Certainly Sure Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I havent dressed out for so long,
But I’m great at the arcade:
I’m really great after hours and all alone
With the vespers and
Ghosts,
Pretending to have god and paper snowflakes,
But now all those mountains are
Undeniably empirical,
And you are so lonely in between their
Creches, aren’t you, Sharon;
And I cant understand that, because I
Am no good at any sort of science,
And your father is dead, and where does your
Mother live.
You daughter is beautiful, Sharon, like grapes
Upon your breast,
But I suppose you already know this,
As the weather comes, and all of this is real,
And you can barely stand it;
But whatever they do they are inventing for you,
Sharon- and I hope you can understand this:
That you cannot ever be undone,
Holding out all men want to become a service in
Your army,
Even if you get sick and fall out of love,
You will reawaken again, even if this page is given over
To the age-old fire,
You can’t blame me for trying, Sharon,
Because my rum is weak but flowing, and my dogs
Are to me as I wish to be to you,
Beautiful and needy, basking in the lower slopes of your
Shadows well before the grave;
But those are the best places to grow,
Well before the graveyards- Maybe my name will even
Hang sometime not well beneath yours and your husbands,
And your child:
For we all must die, Sharon, and I am perfect,
And must die before you, to clear the path, but my dogs before
Me,
And the tourists all around us basking in your
Wonderful jubilees;
But you have made it all so much more possible,
So when we become like the dinosaurs and the grinning
Sharks whom you’ve been weeping for,
I can stand up and declare that you made all of this
Passage way so much more brighter,
Coming down well lit singed briskly by your flairs,
For you are a full blooded debutant
The wings of ever careful airplanes encircle,
And every good government and all of their orchards
And cemeteries
Are yours, Sharon-
I am certain,
Certainly sure.