See-Sawing Cindy Cinder-Tongue Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Bared at the sea’s subtlety,
Whispered by the salt enclave
A rainbow’s theory
Butchered like presents
In the footprints on the
Unreal merry-go-round:
These are all my parts severed,
Each one drained of blood
My soul has scuttled like
A crab under a stone,
Blushing like the anemic opal
Of a birthstone
As she has left in the fuming car:
Amateurish,
My joints are frayed like old toys.
Nothing about the design is clean.
An expert might say that meant
She felt something,
As she divvied in the knife’s
Geometry for hungry beaks,
But I know it was not her first time.
All the waves will have done soon,
And the albatross
Might stop and wonder
Before scatting on
The jaw’s cenotaph,
For her honeymoon she can forget,
On the sawhorse of his stride,
See-sawing Cindy Cinder-tongue,
A new job and his last name,
Like a Hebrew‘s ruby
In a crocodile’s eye.
Afterwards I saw her
Laughing on red bricked steps:
She had cut her hair.