The Superfluous Fare Thee Wells Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Interludes of sadness and kindergarten,
But Monday is my day off- her hand is brown
Like a kind of butterfly on a stony, fleshy kite;
Who speaks familiarly with its mind,
As around the corner the kidnappers grow,
And the day gets all shut out like a semi perfect
Baseball game,
And phantasms in the creases of the sidewalk,
Like chicken wire veins sewn tight in my jaw after
My first attempts at flight,
The rabbits in the grass, in the rattlesnakes’ stomach
Where they will sleep in the night,
Contended in the weeds around trailer parks
Growing rusty, and missing their waitresses and
Bartenders:
But it will soon come to pass, overcome with many
Aphorisms, like swords clutched in stones,
The rains weeping for heroes, the cut out snowflakes
And cartoons interrupted by the superfluous
Fare thee wells.