The Fairy Tale Of A Glass Coffin Poem by Robert Rorabeck

When my corneas dilate,
The clouds grow-
Her legs get fatter,
The birds fly south;
It snows-
I indulge and read most of
One of my novels;
Its good, its d*mned good,
But she doesn’t call,
The forest is disinterested,
And the professionals are too
Scared.
The menagerie has taken off
And are busy selling their eccentricities,
Performing in the clearing between
The stripping aspen-
Afterwards, its time for sleep in
The fairytale of a glass coffin-
My friends wander off with the crowd,
The torches dim into kissing rooms;
Daughters who have failed wear nothing-much red,
While I continue to cry sacrificing
The words they shall fail to hear,
And the dwarfs in their mines continue
Pickaxing for birthstones,
The gifts we would all care to bathe her in
If she were ever home,
This milk-opal spume of the sinking bachelors
Only desperate mothers love.