Our Questioning Tomorrows Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The last poem of the night should be hardly beautiful,
Or hardly enough;
While my mother has gone out into the mowed easements to
Talk on the phone,
While I rightly love a woman who is hardly old enough to throw
Me a bone;
And all of the strawberries and all of the watermelons are properly
Saturated,
And all the queens are in the sky; and if I was more beautiful I would
Know the proper words to give them their goodbyes,
While they set across the earth like pop rockets singing songs,
While our family left us along ago,
And so now all we have are these caves glowing with the reruns of
The photosynthesis of our bodies, if we were brave or if we
Were heroes,
We would come out singing open throated from our caves, giving up into
The world our new bodies;
But now all there is, is a wife that I should have if I was even more brave,
And if I had the guts to put candle-lights in my beard,
And sing to her of all of my sorrows; then how she would sing to me,
Passing out greeting cards with pictures of our family.
Giving sweet promises half-heartedly of all of our questioning tomorrows.