Miss Chinese Water Torture Poem by Robert Rorabeck

What can I do for you,
Miss Chinese Water Torture?
You say it’s your birthday, well
It’s my birthday to, yeah, but
The last time I saw you, you
Were packed into a 10 second dream,
Before my return to consciousness at 8 am
April 23rd,2007; T minus 13 days.
I dreamed we were sitting close in
My family’s church, which is something
You’d never do, because Judaism always
Trumps the protestant splinter cells,
Those who grew up barefoot in the weeds
Of America’s last century, versus
Those armored in Tefillin who continue
Defying God, sheckling in their Babylonian
Temples, crying for another paternity test;
But, somehow, you didn’t seem to mind,
And they had set up carnival rides in the aisle
Between the pews. Me and 3 young, but not
Very nice kids, got on the Zipper and waited for
The lady on the organs to start us up
While I tried to make eyes
With the farmer’s daughter, and after that ride
Was done I played my Sega Dreamcast while
The old bald preacher did his job—Near the end we
All went out, but you weren’t there at my side,
The uncertain short thing that used to anchor
Against me, you who gave me balanced purpose.
They said there was a gas leak in the church
And reporters came—One wanted to interview me
Because I look good from a certain distance, but
As he got closer he kind of just gave up and walked away—
I went back into the church to find you,
Miss Chinese Water Torture
But the important religious people, well dressed but not
Altogether bright, pushed me out, saying it was
Going to blow, but then I saw you coming
Toward me in the darkness of the walk— I asked you
Where you’d been and, breathlessly,
You said it’d been great—
You’d just traveled 5 states in
Twenty minutes to inform the authorities,
And look, for just then did not the firemen arrive
In great red screaming trucks, leaping forth with much pomp
And impressive hoses, their heroic instruments—
You saved our church, Miss Chinese Water Torture,
With Justin who drove you; you said
He was a nice guy and asked me what I
Wanted to do now as we began to walk under
The soft streetlights down the sidewalk towards my old truck.
I wanted to go home and sleep a little
With you before I woke up, but there on
A gentle hill covered by grass,
part of the church’s landscaping, you’d stooped to
smile and talk with a pale faced kid with long
dark hair and thick glasses—
And you staid with him there, Miss Chinese
Water Torture— You didn’t come with me
As I awoke to work, but your ghost rides near
Me still, leaving me thinking I must
Have done to you something awful.