Assertions Of Torpidity Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If I stare at you too long,
You may be mistaken that I want something,
But even though you represent a beautiful
Object going nowhere with a busy background
Of traffic,
I am only waiting like you, for things to come
My way and then depart;
Or maybe you are waiting for the bus?
Or on your mother, or the ice-cream truck?
Did I tell you I’m attempting to finish my
Fourth novel this year? It should be my last,
For I don’t want to seem intolerably desperate,
Though its quite easy as long as you shouldn’t
Be bothered with publication,
Or that I saw my dog drool on a swarthy
Caterpillar, which sounds vaguely romantic, but
Turns out to be rather gross, like most
Acts when they get down to the nitty-gritty.
Are you like me, preferring tomboys to bimbos,
And find it rather sad when flushed women graduate
From one to the next, and then on to grandmothers?
But now the sun is slipping upon us as if we
Were displayed under glass in a museum, and
Even the insects are torpid and crawl upon your
Neck like tiny cerulean motes, or tree frogs,
And their insouciance of farts and quiver chirps
Accentuate how callous is your beauty,
And immutable your heart, such baggage of
Chastity you take with you standing in the
Middle of nowhere, disproving such philosophers
Who assert that movement is a possibility.