Someone Else's Graveyard Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Laughter of my child
Back in China- outside
The womb-
Boxes opened for Christmas
Or bound for her ancestors-
Footprints in sand remaining
There for eons
Along with the hoof prints of
the dinosaurs
Because of the effects of
Gravity
Not Jesus-
A god whose heart is here,
Bleeding in my scribbling hand-
Our neares ancestors
Living entombed,
Wombs of gargantuan infastructure,
Poets prostituting for
The applause of the housewives
Of the zeitgeist,
A few words lying more distant
From the road-
And a boquet of plastic
Roses meant for someone else's
Graveyard getting dusty in
A shed.