Shoreline Of My C Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I’ve tried turning over so many terrapin to see
What their strange ides have in store,
But all I get is the left over roe of their glutting breakfast;
And their eyes don’t even sing to me,
And I leave them alone until they stop spinning on the floor.
While all of this time the stewardesses have been at dancing,
Like satellites in chorus lines of star-burned rows,
Like dancehalls for sheriffs who are pilots and astronauts:
And they kick their legs up all across the Elysian Fields,
And they remind me of girls from high school even while they
Are dancing, and they are so far off you cannot even notice
When they are dressed and when they are naked;
And I think of buying them houses to live underneath them,
To make them just as jealous, so that in my clever vanity I may watch
Them, while they singing look down at me, and wonder what
Beautiful sort of creature lives with me, and from a closer vantage
Point strikes across my visage and my bedroom everyday,
Like a comet burning holes in her secret negligee, like
A secret older sister getting naked and purring along the well fitted
Shoreline of my canopied pool.