Thou Buzzards Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Above or beneath me no one sleeps,
The windows keep their dressing,
The shadows their creeps; and if you are the
Vision of high society
With a palate for a beefier dictionary,
You make me weep like a crocodile, like
An onion, like a tourist makes me weep
Shirtless like soulless for awhile,
So easily they are shed and driven around;
And led,
When they should be taking photographs
Of the deeper, brighter things, those housewives
With their afternoon strange, their favorite quiet
Places, their favorite books and places to take it
All off,
The favorite places to shop and stuff their
Kids: In this beautiful stage-show neighborhood
Is where I met you, where you now live with
All your ivy league flunkies and their ivy league
Sibs- There you displaced me like a generic
Sheet to the wind, you set me free to migrate
Some feet out your door and around the sizzling
Power lines to spin- I was an outside dog,
That very four legged soul you couldn’t abide,
And I spent my afternoons of peanut-butter and jelly
Outside on the swings, and didn’t wash-
Went from door to door, quietly stealing things like
The liquored conquistador using the pool’s inflatable
Raft to sail the treacherously rewarding seas too rich
For thou buzzards to explore.