To The Ears Of Drunken Horses Poem by Robert Rorabeck

By the time this song is gone to the
Heavens of stolen bicycles—
My dog is barking, my wife is
Almost out of the shower,
And I am trying to get drunk for real—
Don't you remember the
Time we folded paper airplanes in
The mausoleum
And waited all afternoon caressing the wildflowers
Of the crypts just to
See the hummingbirds drinking of
The ethereal bouquets,
Like the stewardesses who seemed to levitate
Wherever they went—
Until they came down forever,
The paperweights and the lovers of sea horses—
Even if their song became a scar
To the ears of drunken horses who had learned how
To hold their breath forever.