Robert Rorabeck

Bronze Star - 2,196 Points (04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

The Pitiless Streams Of Nocturnal Traffic - Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If the day is gray in Florida, why shouldn’t it be Michigan;
While I am spending my last few days with my parents in their
And then I shall have my own home: my own quieted space so near
To the sea who can so easily be called my muse:
She is apathetic and she doesn’t care: men can sell ice-cream right
Out in front of her, and she doesn’t
Men who fish in her throat, laying lines into her, even going down
Breathlessly on her, moaning into the ballrooms that she drinks:
She just goes on and on, besmirched in her waltzes, sloshing her
Spirits and her boats;
And I am always trying to cultivate new rhymes like bouquets for
Her in my tremulating latch-key neighborhoods, pressed into
The strange and white-faced peninsula, like a starving child licking
His finger against the wind, like the rich perfumes of a night blooming
Jasmine striking out in the pitiless streams of nocturnal traffic that
She moats.

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, April 25, 2010

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