Many Miles Poem by Robert Rorabeck

No need for storms now,
Nor for wants: they are all right here now,
Beneath the scars, the fragile bones.
Look at how exquisitely they are put together.
Look at how they hold up her lips so that she
Doesn’t have to put down her drink
To kiss the gentleman.
I don’t have anything to say now, except that
The grass is green beyond the curtains,
And it is a shame that there are no children
Playing upon it,
Making fun with the ants,
And the shadows are already yawning,
As the entire neighborhood tips into space
Just like a glass perched upon her lips beneath
Her eyes which
Are so steady upon him,
That there is no room for him to maneuver his
Scars away from her vision, her hopes:
Soon he must turn and she should see him whole,
Fragile like a flightless bird,
So isn’t it any wonder that there is no reason to
Love him,
And now the yard is hopelessly empty.
A car drives by but doesn’t stop for many miles.