Sleepy Weathervanes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Beautiful frogs are farting in
Beds of droopy chrysanthemums.
Chartreuse and poisonous, they are waiting
For her sombulent march, to cling to
Her like wet paper and exterior fetuses,
To steal her dreams through her ankles and
Calves of the undistinguished prince who
Is even now flying a passenger jet over those
Stringy gardens, unbeknown in his azure flight suit,
His eyes pestered by foul weather banks,
And the freshly painted flirtations of the perky stewardess,
That his love is even now fathoms beneath him,
Her feet stealing the soil for roses.