The Spells Of Their Mating Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Animal traps and quivers.
These baldheaded bulldogs give me the shivers;
All alone in some humid park,
Listens to the waves crochet long after dark-
To the silences of turtles mating,
In grottoes under sandcastles, and Canadian
Stewardesses leaping so carelessly,
So far above the sky; they give no pause;
They are rushing like angel-faced Cinderellas,
Skipping over the everglades to get married
When I remembered them from some class some far
Away, tipping their glass, rolling in the hay:
I had so little time to care for them, leaping out of
Schoolyards, balancing over emerald gutters,
Sweating alone in some cars, but they are getting married:
Tonight they are getting married, and they’ve
Remembered both of their glass slippers,
And the spells of their mating- so everything should be okay.