Keep Busy Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I eat ice-cream-
I eat ice-cream- I drink rum:
In that order,
Or that’s what I’m going to do.
Maybe I will read William Carlos Williams.
Maybe I will write a modern rendition of
Little Red Riding Hood- Looking down
The misty but un-shy valley I might see a streak
Of red, like poisoned holly, and it will be her-
And I will write about it,
That she should love me for a little while,
Or just keep me around because I feel comfortable,
Until she gets the steady drip of her silver-fanged
Lycanthrope: Oh, what I handsome thing,
Or shouldn’t I say that is how I must write him;
And I am thinking of soliciting Fantasy & Science
Fiction Magazine,
Except that it might be that they are out of print,
So I might just put that away-
I might think longingly of Arthur Rimbaud and how
At only seventeen he was still a might better that
Walt Whitman, and if they ever met or held hands,
Or shared lemonade through the epileptic parks
In sunny fits. Because it seems that it was the right time;
But I will not call her- That’s what I should never
Do, even though soon I should move three states closer
Or so and be able to lay my head upon Sara Teasdale’s
Grave in Bellefontaine, though I would never take
A photograph even in the middle of the night,
Because to be that kind of tourist is not a fare amusement;
But once I’ve had my nip of rum I might be
Brave enough to write her name; it is Memorial
Day weekend after all, and shouldn’t there be at least
Some kind of fireworks? Ah heck- Erin, I said it….
Oh well: It is still such a pretty thing,
But now I must keep busy by something else.