Made To Assume Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Another one of these nights,
These things that repeat with the palpitating hearts
Of the polar sexes,
Who are in so many ways alike,
Wanting the salted conjunctures of each other’s
Conversations,
And their torpedos, so that when all the lights
Are out and crepescule is crawling around
Like a cat who is unafraid of the waves
In every sweet trailer park and less serine
Suburbia,
Don’t I throw these papers up for you
Under the elbows and wings of pines,
Spilling theatrical weathers straight over the
Graves of used car salesmen and
Conquistadors,
While the housewives sigh, but for other
Reasons,
And the lady sleeps in the lake the Mexicans
Ploughed and then went away for lunch
And a siesta their lips puckered with
Chili and lemon while you were
In your kitchen somewhere
The airplanes leaping over you,
And all of us doing just what we were
Made to assume.