Sir Francis Bacon Vs. Shakespeare Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Looking for the better life,
Long legged girls delight in lawyers,
Well-suited boys in pinstriped suburbias-
Verdant halls, golden foyers:
I’ve heard them serenading from their
Sisterly row,
Getting dolled up, looking gorgeous,
Extending every part of their bodies that
They know how to,
Riding bicycles to and fro under the crenulated
Lashes,
So fast to get where they are going that
They have forgotten to worship their dead
Siblings,
Forgotten to tie a new bow about the poles in
The graveyard,
To bring them gifts of plastic tulips and thimble-
Tiny mewing kittens to appease them,
The rippling specters who can tell the future-
They go right by me too, as if they couldn’t see
Me, even though I have a thumb up above
My rucksack- You would think that they were
Mailmen on their appointed rounds,
Trying to get at the educated men, pomaded in their
Intangible positions, but I shouldn’t crowd them,
Their bright traffic as busy as a drippy comb,
But I’ll sit here amidst the growing puddles
Of humid shadows at the curbside- I’ll bight my thumb
And gossip with the relatives they’ve forgotten,
I’ll wait for them all to settle and grow numb
Like snowflakes in a bell jar’s trinket,
And when they’re unsuspecting, or busy shopping,
I’ll sneak to their windows and pillage a plumb
Cooling in their steamy confections- I’ll eat
Quietly in their backyards, under their swingsets
Conflagrations, I’ll appease the appetite of my
Erections- I’ll take their kids to the graveyard and show
Them pictures of when they were young:
And there I’ll leave them with my willow sprig or
Cane pole jouncing over my shoulder,
A leather tramp between the jobs and landscaped holies;
Perhaps I’ll whistle in the evenings at their
Shaven jogs; and it will be fine to somnambulate and greet
Them with eyes so free in meetings,
Whose thoughts are so read and fleeting,
Careless of all that they’ve never mentioned to find.