So Many Things That Need To Be Disproved Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I have questions to fulfill about you:
How many men have you made love to in your life:
You made love to me on Monday until your husband called,
And you had to leave because you are his
Faithful wife,
Like the waves have to leave their imprints for the newly born
Jacobites and terrapins trundling on the shore:
Alma, you lost all of your rabbits to the neighbors
Dogs,
And I wonder how sad you are: I can remember when I was four
And the dog ate all of my rabbits in the rock garden of my innocent
Shore,
And my mother spared me the death: her labor in the carport
And aloes of lore;
But I am still trying to feel for you, like a kidnapped child,
Like a senseless tadpole:
I grew up around here, Alma, because I am so weak,
Because I am not macho, see how all of my cantos have fallen to
To your feet, to anoint you with frankincense and myrrh:
While I made love other women before you,
Like taking necessary sips of water, like praying to some flags,
But I am sorry that I have made love to anyone besides you- Alma,
Even while you cook dinner with your mother, both for your
Husbands in a kitchen on Cherry Lane:
And you don’t like to go out into the sun, and that I can understand,
Because there are so many semblances underneath the sun,
So many things that need to be disproved, but of those I am not one.