Red Poem Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Red as the cauldron burning
Red.
Red as the red Indians running
Red in my
Red head.
Red engine motors the red sun
Into the red night.
Red bride kissing red lips at a
Red midnight.

Alex lost his son eight years old.
I put $20 as sympathy into
His pity bucket.
Death does it to the young as to
The old.

I found my eyesight in the codex
Of a dream,
Memories sell themselves into
The influence of an evaporating stream.

As my children grow, they will run
Faster still
The red sun will cast their red shadows
Down the cornices of a red rotting hill.

I will smile at them red toothed and
Ask for red wine
And laugh in a red ecstasy over
The muderous influences that fall behind.

They will leap and grow and twist towards
A red, red sun.
And I will burn in red memories
Setting over all the days they have won.