The Interiors Of A Landlocked Sea Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I toss a Frisbee to the wolves as I listen
To the jet engine's holiday—
It sounds just like the apiary of your daydreams,
As I've been thinking about you all across
The footpaths of this campus—
You of a honey's sorority—whose body I once
Kissed and bought overpriced gold for,
And followed around weeping like
A puppet does to a wet puppy—
But you've never set foot on Campus—
You only made it out of Mexico after
I had graduated—you crossed the frontera in your
Bare feet wearing a beatific negligee—
Following the orbit of your husband,
As dear to you as a rattlesnake is
To a devil—
Now the roads have split us—and the love
You proposed has evaporated from its shallows—
My new wife likes to eat pomegranates—
She is already pregnant and will come across
The earth in three weeks,
Maybe you will see her streaking across you
Like a comet—as the orchards there in your bedroom
That I do not know about,
Bend down with their bitter fruit,
Trying to console you—and you are in a cave
As brilliant as a television—
With your children lactating like mica from you—
Infantile nebulas burning from the interiors
Of a landlocked sea—and I want you to know
That this is how I picture you.