Massacre Underneath The Sun Poem by Robert Rorabeck

They made a massacre underneath the sun—maybe they
Were just playing with themselves—
While, in the tomorrow, the sun would jump up yelping and
Asking for help
Even though there was nothing left that was owed to
Him—
And then the moon would rise, hoping to steal the gossip
From the ropes of your business,
As the tears dried off the hurricane,
And the silver foxes settled down underneath whatever mountains
Where they were, until the most
Beautiful of the nighttime wildlife cried out from under neath
The parapets of its cathedrals that was
Then all that there was—
And whenever the moon came out it dried the eyes of the foxes,
And then settled down in the amphitheaters
That pretended to gossip over whatever it was that wasn't even
There.