The First Pleasing Man Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The seesaws move up and down bracing themselves
For love or what for,
As the sky caracoles, counting the changeless numbers,
As there as so many of them,
As more and more people seem to enter the store everyday:
What are they doing,
But counting their wares and their small changes:
And we sell indoor plants; and
I steal what I can- I eat a grapefruit, and think of Alma:
She is not working today:
We made love yesterday, but now I haven’t heard from her
At all:
I am looking less and less beautiful, of course:
I go to the back corner to weep
And masturbate:
Little black kids are playing the cinderblocks, or they are making
Popping sounds with their mouths
Over the things that they would like to enjoy with each
Other,
Until the spirits finally grow up and take over the past,
Present, and future,
As the stewardesses touch down sighing and letting down their
Hair,
Happy that they don’t have to say another word to anybody,
Though they are sure that they will happily kiss the first pleasing
Man which they happen to meet.