Let me feel your truancy- let me be your apple <br />Scars, your scabrous efficiency- I want to be your airplane <br />Leaping from your gallant stride; <br />I’ll take off and I’ll glide and get a good look down your <br />Dress. <br />And when I come home, mince me up and make <br />Apple sauce- If times are hard, use me to nourish your <br />Child. Wipe me off of her bib in deep snow bound passes <br />Where you shouldn’t have been in the first place, <br />But I’ll pull you through. Just toss the scarred and less savory <br />Bits to the hounds- <br />Put on a colorful headdress and wear a rubber tomahawk <br />To fool the clowns; <br />And now that I am gone, take your men bowling every night, <br />And drink green vermilion beer until you intend to see swans, <br />And I will float around the lanes like a feathered prawn, <br />I will hold recess in your brain, <br />And like a doctor hit upon the funny bone to check if you’re sane; <br />And sometimes see the world when you yawn, <br />And as I go back forth on the brindled terraplane of your lawn, <br />I will attempt to sell bibles and snake oil to the other souls <br />Who are real gone.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-blue-wildebeest-is-sometimes-called-brindled-gnu/
