Like Angels That Didn'T Really Care Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Scarred into the apologies of my landscaping-
While I was sitting at home and masturbating,
And you were making love
To anyone- like a stewardess doused in a ghetto
The night that the college was all lit up,
And the fields were crenulated with alligators
Learning of the inventions of walking
Upright with fire:
Then I wanted to tell your husband how many times
I made love to you
While the witches were still turning
Their soups of lost children in the soft pits of their
Bread houses,
The airplanes flying back and forth across the
Heavens like angels that didn’t really care.