Taxing Reality Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If the light camps like touristing angels,
Overweight and bowing the ply wall;
Then you know it is good, and dinner is ready;
As all out in the yard the miniature icebergs
Are parked underneath the streetlights some
Famished scientist invented to fulfill his
Dysfunctional love, and I know that all the horses are gone,
And all the pretty girls roller-skated home so many
Decades ago; and like morning, all of the housewives
Are very fine, if they should ever come and show
Themselves again to the comely crowns crowing at their windows;
And then they just might know the world is real,
With so many fine knives in the kitchen, and the yards
Are mowed.
If the pools are glistening like the sad introductions of
Busted holidays; and all the cars are repossessed haughtily from their
And their bonded sisters’ driveways; then they too will know
That it is another world that is just as sure of its
Taxing reality.