In The Loneliness Of The Greatest Certainty Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Open wounds, and start the show;
They made love while the crocodiles sang
Before recorded history;
The scars don’t look so bad on film;
They are almost gentlemanly- I search for
Exlovers through the gloom,
Who have no idea what they’ve done to me:
She, for one, has gained weight,
Yet, I shouldn’t be the one to judge others
On their looks. I know it doesn’t work that
Way, and yet she puts her make-up on to kiss
Her man, and not for me, and
Straightens her hair to look less Ashkenazi,
But I can do nothing to her anymore,
And the play is halfway through, but full of
Reawakened relatives, and cars which won’t start,
And a red head in a red light, playing her usual part;
I sat there in a nondescript evening, while a
Nondescript rain pattered in the parking-lot;
I was not invited to the wrap party, I did not kiss
Anyone, or see anyone naked, but went home
Directly as I should and leapt in a great wide house
All alone, and put on my own sort of show,
In the loneliness of the greatest certainty, while
In their cages not far away the lions roared,
The children played in joyful cacophony;
They sounded the same to me;
They said that they didn’t want to see me anymore,
Or review the movements of my song,
And thus I stood so very still
In the loneliness of the greatest certainty.