The Orchard Of One Single Orange Tree Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Bicycle- bicycle silent as the night
Going away after Christmas: going underneath
The house and down to the canal
To bring its roses to the lips of the patient alligator
While the sirens sound the cops,
And boats of homosexuals sink again for
The holidays of other young boys- as your eyes
Enclose all of their raptures and perpetuate towards
Him- into the statuaries of his burning arms
I suppose they have to fly, as a graveyard lies
Out underneath me- she seems to be waiting for
Me like a cemetery, as the swings lay rusting:
And the old carport which once held all of the promises
Of your eyes now doesn’t even contain the rebar
The toads used to spore, like princes regurgitating
The fowl of a thanksgiving feast: and in the back
Yard after all of the plane crafts have crashed,
The orchard of one single orange tree lies
Fading like a fable of unfortunate gold that
Has long since been swallowed up by the frozen
Rivers after your husband and all of his unfortunate
Cousins have fallen into some impassable pass
And eaten themselves.