The Graveyards Of The Wintering Earth Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Tractors no longer shall enfold the earth,
Leaving tracks that dysfunctional scientists consider
For carbon dating,
The beautiful tattoos in between the thirsty frogs
And coral snakes-
The wind doesn’t even break as it tries to snap the
Neck of the all-weather c$ck,
And little girls fall down and beat their fists against
The stones lining the walk after mommy and
Daddy aren’t home:
They just want the hurricanes to come and take them
Across the ships to a yellow bricked road,
But now even the hurricanes are pressed like
Cut flowers into the alabaster tomb,
And airplanes are free to leap silver and gold,
With their little banners and emblems,
With beautiful women all from other countries but
All in their stilettos;
And the dragon’s fangs have been sewn.
Have I told you all of this before, all of the amnesiac friends
Are waking up, battle weary, but ready to spit and curse:
And right away, yawning, they pummel each other back into
The sodden dirt,
And now the great wide hearse comes taking all the wildflowers
Back to the graveyards of the wintering earth.