The Awful And Most Wonderful Thing Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Crying on the shoulder of another pinwheel
Waiting for the fair—
Here it is! Here it is, says some other woman’s
Mother—
And the zoetropes take upon themselves
Their own haloes—
And then it feels so good to sop up the elements
Of the jellyfish after all of the waves
Have receded
And the eagles have returned to their nests—
Angels in slopes and easements—
Angels over the shoulders of those vagabond housewives
Whom have to dance for a living—
And isn’t it just another same altruism
Calling out while the citrus blooms
And the sugar cane burns—
Isn’t this all just the same place within the vagabond
Sheddings of the palm trees of the cathedrals—
After all, the other muse—
The last and final thing has already driven home—
She is still surviving upon your money,
Or what else is she surviving upon—
And it is an apiary that stung you which you never
Discovered, as the lights are going out
All over the airports of the awful and most wonderful
Thing.