Pages Of Elephants Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Pages of elephants and a Pegasus—
Little gastropods like tears down the sides of
Movie theatres,
The night train home wearing the negligee of
Her hours—
And I am off on the honey moons of weekends,
Drinking rum,
As the sunlight pollinates with the daylights of
Her harems,
And the most beautiful of brown skinned girls
Lies the furthest away—
Not like the eeriness’s pastiest Disney
Worlds,
But with the accoutrements of the deliverers
Of the driest of gardens:
She is not here,
And she will never be here again—
It is not a lovely game I play with her memory,
But she is about and breathing
In a zoetrope of her Catholicism’s which will never
Return her this way to me.