Treasure Island

Robert Rorabeck

(04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

Last Night


Water whispers like going to the bath:
It makes its runs through the old steady pipes,
Laid out through the fair skin of the
Earth,
Reticulated from porcelain wash basins for
Muses, going down to the sea of never mind,
Or I don’t care wherever it goes;
And it’s early morning and I can still remember going
To college,
Making my rounds through the mists while my
Girlfriend was sleeping,
Delivering, delivering while keys jingled sleepily inside
Of doors,
And mother’s weeping for their newly turned whores.
The rest of the world was upside down,
Hanging from the rafters of blatherskites; and I just
Woke up to the frozen morning decades later,
But I didn’t think of you last night.

Submitted: Thursday, January 07, 2010
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  • Callie Carroll (1/8/2010 1:11:00 AM)

    I think about water a lot, in songs, poems, short stories, etc. The water was a backdrop, but caught my attention.This was fresh, which is hard to do. 'The sea of nevermind' 'blatherskites.' The end, surprising.
    Regards,
    Cal (Report) Reply

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