Words None Of Us Can Remember Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Banks of sad monuments have their
Thrill:
I am your secret admirer.
I am Daniel Boone, even if its been so long
Since I’ve gone to Spain,
Or risen up and
Masturbated in the fair rains over your house:
You did not complain to me,
Or when I pretended to die for my grandmother;
And now that she is dead,
And sometimes my dogs weep:
The drillmaster puts me through all of his unkind
Drills.
Though I have a knife, I don’t know if I will ever
Use it;
But the lake is nearby where all the bicycles and
Their ladies go.
The bell tower’s shadow slips right into it,
And the grass is high.
I want to steal you away from your husband.
He won’t mind if I run my fingers down your thigh
Into the shadows
Even your children cannot remember;
Into the shallows when weren’t they just minnows before
The metamorphosis of our first words
None of us can remember.