Our Less Than Perfect Attempt To Remain Beyond Nothing Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Moving away from the Green Beret
Slanting downward, in the
Smoky mead halls of travelers
Lost underground beneath
The suburban forest,
The working girls’ legs go on
Forever,
Pointless, their apex a universe
And stars expanding outward their
Bodies a capturing gravity creating
Planets,
Recreating and populating themselves,
Homeless in bed at home,
Out of body experiences,
In their silver and pink children
That drive around and around with them,
In the metallic haze they are
Galvanized in, the tin soldiers
Stored in household tins,
The evolutionary manifestation of
Cars and super computers and rockets
Rolling along the highway of their thighs,
Forgetting to make love
They still look good while shopping,
They scream and scream
Go away to come back again
Their inescapable space separating
Our home from the neighbors,
Our less than perfect attempt to
Remain beyond nothing.