If They Are Of Any Worth Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The rest of the campus is asleep, so who can I talk to:
Who can I raise up to walk with me through the poisonous
Show offs of the
Carnivals of smoke screens:
Sharon, you are up and the world is so young:
You might as well be a starlet, Sharon:
The first and the last star,
Like a wave that takes forever to disperse, if that is what you
Are doing:
A wave so perfect in mind and body that she somehow made
Her way from the Atlantic basin to
Colorado,
And up in the chimneys of little boys she made up her mind.
Now all of the cars are rusting,
And I am losing faith in what all the muses are supposed to be:
Oh,
If I had been beautiful enough for you, Sharon;
If I had set out early enough from my door, proudly slinging my
Powder and sword;
I would have won any war for you, Sharon:
You are just as beautiful as my mother in her bitter youth,
Sharon;
And these are just my few words still flung for you:
Sharon, like chicken scratch;
If you saw me waking up beside you, Sharon, you would not
Love me,
But here is just a little more, like a silent carnival evaporating
Before the threshold of your beautiful door,
Like costume jewelry left under your door, the little play things
I leave your quiet though startling mind;
It is up to you to decide if they are of any worth.