The Last Romances Of Stewardesses Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The Last Romances Of Stewardesses



Oh, god of roller-skates- god of dragons,
I try to remember you in the park in Michigan with the
Last light fluming,
And the children who are old enough making love,
After all of my light is done,
And the snow is finally down, and lying like virgins
Beneath the slide and merry-go- round:
And what quietude, what peaceful, secular midnight:
And what folly, that I’ve run away at fifteen-
That I haven’t even kissed a girl,
And I am not done playing cowboys and Indians:
Oh, night such as this, barren, impassive night, where
Everything that is successful is already in bed,
And I am left latch keyed and crooning- oh sorrowful
Wound, with another love lost,
And another alligator yawning- and a hateful place,
Just like that pitiful mailbox out waiting in your front
Yard- waiting for answers to swallow themselves
And your fingerprints,
As the little flowers bloom in the graveyards
That the explorers and the cartographers disappear into
And that become so large that they take up an entire
State that we disappear into echoing
The last romances of stewardesses whispering of the
Suppers never served up to their under deserving plates.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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