The Color Green Poem by Robert Rorabeck

With symbols and bouts of glory cast your doom-
Foray out into enterprise,
Where the cats are expressing like horny violins
The things they say atop of
Fences to little boys looking up at the moon
And her window
Up a hill, a long ways off where the shadows are
Exercising
And taking the low dip kisses of airplanes- wetting their
Wings on the sea
Where I put you against the beautiful corners of
Torpedoes and
Christmas trees- underneath all of those promises of
Your unlucky father in the stars:
And further away, where the gods are growing fruit
And smoking weather fronts that hide their adulteries
Like the way birthday cake can hide the color green.