The Bravest Of The Braves Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Bodies burn with yellow justice,
Or they have just been doing: doing doing,
And all of these songs are their offspring,
Just as there are so many people
Overspilling:
People, people:
The vines are ripened but the fruit is untouchable;
Their luscious bodies are guarded by submachine guns,
And the pipes are rusting;
And the crowd has really turned out to
See the girls curling on the sea;
Her bodies curling on the waves, and the way she ‘
Has placed herself:
The greenness of her body’s green makes us slaves,
And we wish to touch ourselves like the finest
Instruments;
And the leafless bodies beneath us in the weaves,
Going with the gentleness that can never be thought;
And above our sea the transoms are opened
Like concessions for the bravest of our naves
Who might kick themselves high enough
On the swing,
To touch her curling waves, to kiss her brow;
And to see the keystone of her ways lavishing in the evaporated
Grottos of the waves,
The beautiful savior who can always save
The bravest of the braves.