His Senses And Gestures Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Lines to the fisherman who in his
Insouciant architectures has gone to sleep:
Lying like the shadow on the wall
Beside my wife:
Is she sleeping, or is she listening to me
Getting drunk and typing.
Either way there are still orange groves,
As you as women in love but
Abandoned—ladders emptied of
Mexicans—her brown apiaries left
Abandoned, her fires skipping town—
And I am left with the principal coming
Into my room tomorrow—
With his senses and gestures,
And the world on the lines of a little
Thing—so little that the puppets seem
Disturbed. Here it is they thought they
Would end up being real, but, as it
Turns out, they were wrong.