Robert Rorabeck Poems

I’ll have to wait until yesterday and listen:
The crickets in the four corners of the yard,
The Indians underneath the easements of
Grounds:
...

At the window the pretty flowers
Underneath the airplanes:
It rained all evening, but she came to
Me: and we made love,
...

If I had words for the virgins or their
Mothers,
They would take on the form of a long
Vacation:
...

I wrote most of my poetry for you
When I as twelve years old,
In pure delight upon the saddle while
The blue bird sang,
...

Now I am dancing:
Weaponless, armless, here for you:
A peasant who is also a song
In the river-
...

The metamorphosis of burning tires is quite
As beautiful as the cockroaches who linger in the
Armpits of the museums:
I believe you have seen them there, yourselves,
...

They have their friends in the stables
Of Christmas- in the sweet nativities of a suburbia
Where it never has to snow,
And the housewives go out shopping, and then
...

Oh, longevity of a cathedral,
And paper snowflakes wishing you were
Here, just as stewardesses, yawning,
Step out onto tarmacs,
...

This is how you feel alone,
With the cadmium rays of your classroom
Washing over you,
And the American flag hanging there as if she
...

Feelings in the falseness of these
Bodies fills up a room,
Giving us the same diction as her elbows
And putting us at angles
...