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.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Topic(s) of this poem: home
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8/27/2026 7:23:55 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
