Who Are Always Getting Up Again Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Sun comes up, up- paling the marionette boy,
Gasoline ribbons through the strange rows of trees-
Traffic lamps bleed away her beauty,
And every swimming swing is put to quiet and people
Get up and flume in tattered souls of jelly-fish work:
And entire sororities of neighborhoods of beautifully
Anchored housewives get up,
Like an entire farm of tulips rising open, pits of drool
On lips and tongue- wiped away,
Eggs and areolas, playgrounds of soft sand and
Somnambulant chickens- beautiful housewives without
Scars, with discerning eyes can go everywhere
And do not have to wear baseball caps: Their legs
Bats and lamps through the mowed grass, sashaying like
Long legged cats- And we sell watermelons and
Cantaloupes to these women while staring for a long ways
Into their eyes; and then at night we slip subconsciously
Invited through the windows of foyers, faux crystal
Chandeliers floating like gas moats,
And we take back from them those whispering espionages
Those dates to the prom they couldn’t see before,
And seed them again into the graveyards of young dirt,
So in the early morning they will be news and ready
To be given unto the tamed wildflowers, the women
Who are always getting up again.