The Goldfish Whom Poem by Robert Rorabeck

You made a new mistake they help over our pillow
As the airplanes circled and circled into perpetual caracoles
Until they couldn't come down—
Until the very end of the hurricanes had left—and all of the most
Beautiful of housewives had moved far away from
My house—
And my parents eventually contemplating selling the last of
Their horses—
And matriculating beneath the parapets to sell
Christmas trees—
So into the daylight of that hemisphere they christened
The color purple,
Until only she was good enough for herself—
And I kept on try to spell things to the new classrooms of
Vanishing elk and marionettes:
But they still couldn't believe my simulacrum ever existed—
And in the fall of this year they will be vesting new presidents—
But I don't suppose you will ever have to come to see them
Now that you've decided to save yourself from all of this—
From you window where the cats are howling against
The wolves—
And their strange memories echo to the Ferris Wheels of
The goldfish whom, thankfully, will never have an memory of
This—of this.