Your Strange And Sad Numbers Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I stayed here for you- Alma:
And now that the baseball game is over, and my
Parents have left:
And I’ve been in the flowerbed of prostitutes, who
Will sing my sad song:
As your sister dies again into the beds of high school:
Until the night really has to wake up and fly away
Like a bridesmaid in the latening afternoon:
Even while we realize that all of the fish we could catch
Could never truly be described:
Until we remember the fort, and how it hung and to itself,
And the sad marionettes that made up the backyards of
Its drainage:
Until the green decorated from its cannons up on the terraplane
Of its second story, Alma: and everything else that it never
Had to do:
Until all of it was a fire, gurgling, saying its first words to
The fight that was already won, while you were taking your strange
And sad numbers home to him kidnapped into the bags
I’d already fulfilled for you.