The Beautiful Junoism Poem by Robert Rorabeck

She is not playing a game:
The werewolf in the cellar—the death
That ate my throat—
And I am the apple who ripened too late—
To fall upon the car port
After the mermaids had already waxened
After the tide had already waned:
This is the beautiful Juno-ism that is left
To matriculate forever—
This is the very sound that is left as the amusement
After all of the pretty airplanes have already turned out—
And her orchards all opened—
And her dogs have already won—
This is my very throat bared to the very abscesses—
And this is the already that
She has already won.