Robert Rorabeck

Bronze Star - 2,238 Points (04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

The Leggy Stewardess In Their Warm Planes - Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Deep into the range of good intentions
The housewives slumber still beneath the evaporated
Ceiling fans;
Eyes closed for good measure, and children shut in:
The clouds of disbanded chimneys and
Creeping Mexicans:
The cicadas step out naked and leave themselves down
The necks of cypress;
And get new skin, while the delinquents are rushed
Into the nowhere of their plans; as school is called
For rain- and the game:
And the witches float there over the baseball diamonds,
So rich and so plane:
I seem to have seen them there, calling with your eyes
As all of the forests were smoking green, distilled
Of unencumbered conquistadors and the windmills who
Have really sunken in:
The sun a wind instrument you blow wishes in, pin wheeling
The virgin from her grottos, and causing the waves to
Caesura expectantly,
Like early mothers in their warm hospitals, and the leggy
Stewardesses up in their warm planes.

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Poem Submitted: Monday, August 23, 2010

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