Trying To Misspell Your Name Poem by Robert Rorabeck

They seem to be laughing I want to think of
You with your brilliant, tender eyes as I buy a red barn,
And somehow seem to survive across the
Graveyards for all of the winters while I am not there—
And in the absence of my presence a stallion—
As full of light and as majestic as the midnight of
All of your vanishing cars—
But I'll awaken again tomorrow listening to the yawns
Of lions until all of our seats are lost on the busses—
And I can spend forever trying to misspell your name—
Until my classroom will be emptied—and there will
Be nothing else left to call me recluse—
Just the movie theatres that somehow seemed to echo
Upon the vanishing enterprises of your misinterpreted
Game.