The Light From Their Wounds Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Chatreuse caterpillar upon the brown stem
Of Janie's nose—
Ever wondering if she'll ever grow up—
And what is the thing that she was made to be:
A stewardess upon a quest for the
Service industry—learning to leap from
Like stony wishes from bed to bed—
As sweet as chicken, hypnotized from
Paris to Shanghai—
As I lay in my classroom listening to the tornado
Drill,
Waiting for the beautiful girls to come in
And to promise such sweet things to me—
A zoetrope of heeling wounds—
The foxes laughing around the,
Drinking the light from their wounds.