In The Heavens Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I have a future and this isn’t Disney
World:
All of my friends can be counted on one hand
That
I use to masturbate, and the crowd isn’t so
Full:
There isn’t a single person on the moon, and she
Steals the light from the day,
Echoing up there in her boudoir of shadows,
Where less than a dozen suitors have been:
My dog farts in my little house,
And the television waits for commercials-
The otters slip through the slow cessations
Across the impossible bodies of
Bicycles the truants have given to the canal
For reefs;
And come December we will be selling
Christmas trees again- with or without Alma-
Making love in the same old car,
Stealing away the oxygen of bumble bees,
With new birds migrating in the heavens.