Blue gill in the lake of my childhood
Underneath the burning sugarcane of my childhood
Which I never truly saw:
Nor were there stolen bicycles in the canal,
Or rabbits holes to housewives bedrooms
I could not even interpret what I thought of you
Lost in the scars and sweats over all of
Those meandering afternoons the visions of
A Cyclops introduced to the kaleidoscope you
Can tell he is enamored and his senses
Have been turned it pigs, and yet
The beautiful ocean opens all around him like
A flower the rest of the heroes escape into
Her classes- and he doesn’t even care.
Robert Rorabeck
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-beautiful-ocean-2/
