The Contours Of Her Eautiful Façade Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Sweet as the molasses of a sailor’s rations,
The plans take their swiftest roots:
And they even now sing, driving home to their
Trailer parks hauled away beneath the pine trees
On the other side of the canal
Where rabbits talk with dogs in wonderful make
Believe;
And the kittens that you once loved return to their
French castles whose aqueducts blister like lime trees:
And they sit down beneath the clocks
And tell rude stories while kissing their paws and playing
Cards,
While out side, why, there could be just about anyone:
The hobos lumbering from the dim to the liquor store,
Rasping as unhesitatingly as the rains that pretend to
Persevere, that go down perchance equally
Dismissive along the contours of her beautiful façade.