Ballrooms Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Ballrooms



Two abreast in the morning tombs:
Two abreast like pallbearers
While my dog sleeps beside me
And my belly widens:
Engravings of the tabernacle, of a hot
Lunch on a holiday:
As angels braid their hair and put in
For a touch of an adolescent
Whore, plastic barrettes,
And in the secret society of their wings,
Reach down and pick up the tortoises
To kiss,
Or other strange young men beside
The pestilent canal
Or other waterways that are not so
Pestilent:
But, oh, how I loved her beside the
Green rivers of a romantic
Way- or just as much so beside a
Bowling alley:
But I will remain here tomorrow,
Advertising in my sadness,
And doing a rain dance with my broken
Body, until the green swans fly,
And the tadpoles swim into other
Ballrooms,
Dancing a metamorphosis of forever,
Or at least until the not so heavenly sky makes way.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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