How The Song Should Feel Poem by Robert Rorabeck

This is how the song should feel—
Drunken and giving birth after school—
Vomiting into wishing well
At the tiny malls while the china dolls
Sleep all to themselves—
And the heavens take up all four corners of the
Universe—
And the eyes of the crocodiles cannot cry,
But you remain my delusion—
Like life on a planet where no one can breathe:
I read stories about you that no one will believe,
And the children go home
Weeping up to their stars,
Waiting for their wings to be clipped
And the wounds the be banished—
So the can be finished playing baseball and
Make-believe
To go home to full bosomed mothers
Who have no better excuse than to love them,
The way churches love their congregations—
And the way the long and lonely and absent hours
Love their highways.