If It Should Ever Rain Again Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The nights were spent alone,
Evaporating, and now this: not even a knighthood,
Estranged from my parents,
Vagabonding in one place, jump roping over graves,
And the curly hair of the spirits indistinct of color:
I have a book published,
But I end up working for my awful uncle, making
Ten dollars an hour:
I drink too much: I love Alma too much, and maybe or
Most likely it is that I will die:
Maybe it will be in the hurricane season, which will give me
A good excuse,
So I don’t have to look anymore at the overspent old ladies,
And feel guilty for despising them,
Or trying to move them along all the quicker;
And I can’t hear anymore if it is raining, but it really shouldn’t
Matter, since all of the historical forts are locked,
And the celebratory fireworks eagerly spent,
All of the flatulent tourists sleeping, their cowbells silent in
The overprized hotel rooms stocked up against the easy way,
If it should ever rain again.