For A Chance To Be Petted Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Oh the banal bones of the old horses
At the airport, irritating me with their bloodless flow:
And it is so nearest to either of our houses,
Alma,
Except that I own mine like a graveyard, while you pay
Rent for yours with the sweat and bones
Of the loved ones who don’t even belong here;
And I want to tell you about how I remembered
Running away,
And the greatest things I saw even while I was alone:
And I know that you don’t like going up on airplanes,
But you would make in invaluable stewardesses,
And now you don’t
Even want to make love, but you still want to go on
Fieldtrips with me,
Just to walk barefoot in the green grass I have protected
Just for you,
And over to the lilacs or any of the other names of flowers
Who happen to grow their stretching their pretty
Necks if only for a chance to be petted by you.