Humbled Poem by Robert Rorabeck

What can I do to save
My God?
The cheetah has eaten his
Left leg and he has done
Moaning in the cavorting
Grass/
He called my name so many
Times;
He reshaped me with his
Last breath,
With his eyes lost,
Dying-
I look a little bit like him,
The graying man in the mirror,
The remains of the quiet kid
Who skipped class
And none remembered to
Yell out his name
As he stole across the canal.
Then out on the wilderness
The cops are getting killed-
They are trying to reach God,
There are so many traps;
I’m sure you know/
Her eyes are full of quicksand,
Her tongue is a
Slithering gold,
She ate him
That night you tried to
Dance with her
Ten years old she told
You were forgotten-
Lit you afire and tossed
You from her body,
Like a paper airplane,
Crash landing across the bedroom
She waltzes away
Like a beautiful air-born plague;
Now you too old-
The winter is loping like
A hoary clown-
Ice is blanketing the crime
Scene
Where the corpse lays
Fed on,
The remnants of God
A Hollywood massacre,
Pulp-fiction:
Cusped, Humbled.