For The Hungry Puppets Poem by Robert Rorabeck

What I wanted for this:
A song of beauty to burn its effigy over
The loneliest graveyards,
As it seems to be for awhile a poem
In a crypt
Burning hungrily,
Waiting for the authorities to arrive,
Waiting for no one
And then someone- until it will finally be
Christmas,
As the faithful dogs run around in the
Spotlights,
As the spaceships look down, perhaps
Wishing to make love
To aircraft carriers- as this is just another
Thing called up to do its duty-
Species that is going nowhere, escaping
Nothing:
Families in the elbows of televisions,
I look at you now,
While your children grow up- become
Grandmothers and
Grandfathers, whilst my vision is nowhere
Grand,
As all of the spirits escape from Mexico,
As I’ve been killing myself for the hungry puppets,
As the paper snowflakes fall over
My very own grandmother- who, mind you,
Is only pretending-
As never you mind.