Out Of Which Metal Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Children going home to sleep in their cathedral’s
Nursery after their crusade:
The light pullulates like sea-life above their crimson heads.
Then we went with my sister to the aquarium
On Tampa where my friends once got married,
But she was so venal:
She had already turned out to the marines; but I can only imagine
Your man kneeling for you in the saw grass as you knight
Him like a promiscuous queen and then kiss his lips
To see just out of which metal he was made.