The Mailboxes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The Mailboxes



I have tried for so many times to sound beautiful even while
Suddenly the zippers close;
And the body bags have their tags and the traffic slows to take out the
Jubilee;
And Sharon knows how I feels: Sharon knows that I am a poet,
Even if I am unreal:
Long ago, so long ago while riding in my parents’ car, I wished that
I could be beautiful for her, even more beautiful than she should know;
And I wanted her hand,
But the strange earth was blue; it held its breath, and she went to college
And all of the night long it was one great hullabaloo:
And now all of the beautiful woman have strangely beautiful children,
While I am sure it is some sort of heavenly espionage;
I still have all of my teeth, and these are the same canals;
The days go just as sleepily across so many sweltering brows;
But these housewives who were once my lovers have many powwows
With their husbands who for all I know may once have been their brothers,
And the mailboxes are always filled by somehows.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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