Unwavering Immodesty Of My Cerulean Highway Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Cerulean feelings mean I’m blue.
I’ve been driving in this truck for too long:
There have been no exits since high school.

She hung her cares in the library to dry;
Sparrows came and pricked the folklore
Until it bled fire:
Now she runs naked and meaningless,
Leaping the barbed fields.

They will send men to scout the foals,
While the airplanes sleep in the forested lakes,
Young men will drive alone with trunks
Full of dynamite;
Leaving their proms and the perfumed corsages
On their girlfriends’ kitchen tables:

I tried a rouse,
And made it to Colorado:
There were kids getting off the bus,
And my mother in elementary school with
Her brother,
And the mountain had a hairlip
Where the naked lovers lay
Where they shouldn’t have been,
The river was a ribbon
Entwining them with fish,

Where it ended up there were men in boats
With lobster cages,
Grizzlies in the nettled borders;
I drove back around,
Turning the spider on its web into
A holy censer;
Thought of eating lunch while viewing
Her powdered bosom,
And the red baseball diamonds filled in autumn;

But I had no other rouse,
And drove once again past the pedantic fields
Where other lovers lay
Too swiftly, so they couldn’t see how I left them;
Or to hear the allegories shaken down
From the trees,
Embarrassed by such immodesty.