The Glint That They Would Never Teach You Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The Glint That They Would Never Teach You



Feral boy move with great sly in your
Canoe
Peruse the middle-class backyards not
On holidays
But school days: look at the amphibians
In a mess and truck of love;
They seem to cry of you-
Like the housewives on the green tramline,
Squeezing from the earth their
Citrus trees in taught bundles-
What they are doing is the same as you
Can guess-
Slip like a seed pod in blue mud down beside
The pungent ways they mow;
All the half starved lions escaped from the
Reserve seem to know that there
Are blue gills in shallow pools.
Minnow farts ripple the sluggish teal like
Diving bottle rockets-
Pinwheel slightly around water lilies, speckle
In red holly shade:
Go down the grid of careless amazements-
Never know a word- Burp with sound.
Lie on your back and become the glint that they
Would never teach you,
The oiled suit they couldn’t sew.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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