The Greatly Anonymous Moonbeams Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The Greatly Anonymous Moonbeams



Abstained for a couple years, I feel like
Nikola Tesla, living in hotels,
Dreaming of his mother, or another man’s wife,
Tinkering with electronics,
And making the carriage drawn streets glow at night-
I don’t even know what I am doing writing poetry,
But starting down the sad slope of corn oil,
Trying to connect with her, the female end,
The double entendre just picked like a scuppernong
From the chain-link fence surrounding my great uncle’s
Property:
He’s the one who lives near the lake in Michigan,
Whose the head of the physics department, and just
Completed an important experiment involving magnets-
I don’t know, but he’s also celebrating a wedding
Anniversary, but if I drive there it will only be to run away-
My glass is almost out of Dr. Pepper and rum,
And my grandmother is dead- The park is full of ghosts of
Girls named Kelly- Funny, because the ghosts are married
And fat with dew and pregnancy;
And, bending, I find a twenty dollar bill in the grass
Good for an entire sack of penny candy- The cheap liquor is
Making me inclined to masturbate,
And I have lent my father ten thousand dollars to stave off
Such a sad and unfortunate foreclosure,
And I have gotten the highest score in Mrs. Pac-man and juked
In my initials, electronic carvings in her bar,
But she fell in love with the blue anchored bouncer anyways;
She probably already married,
And by the dead middle of summer I’ll have moved to Saint-Louis
And been the victim of my first crime,
As lawyers and their wives break the hymen of their first
Mortgage in South Florida;
They’ll make love on the other side of the wall to their in-ground
Pool, rippling with chlorinated crenulations;
And I’ll have sipped up the last of my liquor,
Like a greatly bankrupt and inland pirate soon to be deinstitutionalized,
And left over once again into the penumbras
And deathly searchlights of the greatly
Anonymous moonbeams.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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