The Lindas In Your Eyes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If the children gambol it is because that they
Are not really there;
Those children and their friends have all run off somewhere-
And this is my house where I’ve been smoking away in the woods:
This is where the green cataracts of leaves fall,
And the virgin sits fat bellied, embarrassed and contemplative,
Wondering what she will do until you
Come home to me, Alma,
But sit on the sofa and eat crackerjacks and watch her soaps
And baseball
Until the street lights turn on so controversially and you are not
Yet home,
And I wonder with her on my blue bed when or if ever again
You will come to knock,
So I can let you in, and you can watch the basking shadows of
An exhausted zoetrope fawning for the ghosts of mailmen;
And I can watch the Linda’s in your eyes,
Because you are so beautiful you have captured them all.