Just As Long As He Possibly Could Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Dead girls have no good rhythm, they just go
Knocking on doors;
And you can never really tell how good and dead they
Are unless you really love her,
Or she is your little sister who you dream about,
Or she is something like that:
And it is a sad daytime movie,
As she moves in the snow, as she continues to filigree
The time that passes swift and slow,
As her baby suckles, as her life needs,
And airplanes go slipping like smoothed stones
Through the woodwind reeds:
And I love her,
And the day is long and smooth like a balmy park until
It is time for supper:
And I love her, but she never has time to wake up and
Remember
The beautiful possibility I once was,
As a strange bird standing posed on his abutments waiting
For her to give him the cue to come on over and continue,
And to look forever into her awful,
Awful eyes;
Or just as long as he possibly could.