Through A Lonely Orange Tree Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Every morning’s light the fingers on the strings of
A marionette that took a driving test
And passed, and now goes to work and drinks and gossips
At the water fountain with other marionettes
That bat wooden eyelashes and bob wooden heads-
And are sometimes taken across the forts
Of plastic Indians to see the blue gills gulping green mildew
In the gutter- and the sunlight lifts a finger across
A lily, and it turns like a dial in the water
Until someone of them is finally married- as in their
House, their children sleep,
The rains kiss the frogs- and the cloths are cleaned and
Dried out in the carport freckled by moonlight
Through a lonely orange tree.