If She Wasn'T Already So Far Away Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Twilight drinks itself to sleep and I am
Here doing the same and yawning trying to picture the
Dusky clouds over the
Retiring golf courses and the teenage cemeteries,
And maybe it because that I am not even real
And had to sit tonight behind Romero’s house while his
Special needs nephew had his forth birthday party:
And I sat beside Alma and her mother
And her daughter:
And she wore the dress that I bought her last weekend at
The flea market underneath I-95:
And I got to do this until the man she lives with came in
And sat between us: he had fake diamonds in his ears
As big as a black man’s birds eggs:
I didn’t care: I went home and jogged so far I jaunted past
Where the drunks were fishing and into the rich man’s
Yards and still I jogged, and I jogged,
Thinking that I could still breath in the loneliest perfumes of Alma
If only she wasn’t already so far away.