The Perfumes Of Their Trophies Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The Perfumes Of Their Trophies



Another cathedral with the ceiling of
A cave—I wonder outside into
Another home
Of reindeer and foxes—
The housewives look out through windows—
They do not remember any of this,
But their pools glisten with moonlit jubilee:
And their faceless men
Are coming home wanting to inebriate
And kiss upon the perfumes of their trophies.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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