The Stolen Gifts Which Once Brought Cheer Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Bicycles stolen near the canal,
Tinseled handlebars- I wonder who has stolen
Them and thrown them here,
Frames of spikenard crinkling the grass
Down beneath the high-stepping footsteps
Of bullies;
And I would like to show for you;
And for you to wear mistletoe in your hair.
Your brother can come- I don’t care:
It’s not far. We can follow the water moccasins
Who will lead their ball of uncouth slick-toed
Young down to the lips of her water’s
Edge
Where maybe your sister lies always thoughtful
Selling beneath the open skies.
I swear, you don’t even have to look me in the eye.
Why I am doing this is to bring you near the stolen
Gifts which once brought cheer,
Now interlaced, crenulated with eels in indefinite space,
Half exposed like a woman interrupted.
You see, the wind takes your hair in little spokes,
The airplanes flatulent over the high backyard leaves,
The housewives beating yokes;
And I don’t care- Your eyes are so far. Wherever
They are, I don’t care- I just wanted to take you here.