Tinfoil God Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Silver rose in the golden sea:
The turtles who live there, knowing her spirit,
Looking up to her:
Tinfoil god sprinkled like tears from airplanes:
No longer the sport of crocodiles,
Just another song to tell their children to
Put them to sleep—as we eat cotton candy and pet
Her hair, dark as all of the longitudes with the
Sun upon the other side of her earth;
It was where I kissed her mouth, while her
Husband was at work—but it didn't work,
As the otters slipped and played up again and again
All throughout their estuaries—and sad mothers,
Or girls who were not even mothers ate their
Candied apples from the top of the Ferris wheels—
Their estuaries—as we sang songs of rebellion without
Even knowing what we sang—as the pilots
Came down nearer to us, whispering, until they dived into
The sky again.