An Even Greater Disaster Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now I have this joy- this silent feeling apart
From me,
Underneath all of the advertisings, I’ve begun to
Smile:
Words on my vision, in my pearly skin:
Water moccasins in their basins curling like
Ribbon above the stolen bicycles:
And I am not lost, as the fair rain begins to fall-
I will remember you as well as when your
Young body struck across the hall:
You haven’t fallen yet- it is yet perfect,
And I’ve just been drinking
Underneath the eyes of a goldfish: and I am still
Right here in perfect unison with the afternoon that
Is about to unfold,
As it has done before to so many countless other men:
Men who now if they are lucky have become
Cenotaphs- while the airplanes proceed across their
Numberless gardens- and it all looks somewhat ghastly
As the houses melt down the streets of the
Phosphorescent traffic: yes, why aren’t they going faster:
As the beautiful women without any husbands sell
All that they have to sell underneath the overpasses-
As we wait for the clouds to pass and pray there won’t
Be an even greater disaster.