No Business Of Understanding Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Cenotaphs of us will live forever,
Pointed, jagged spears vibrating consumptions
Between the cadaverous lick of waves,
You know the melody
They sing between awake and sleep,
Because we made them together
Hunchbacked in the shadows,
Like tortoises spending the day alone anonymous
To the tourists fair-weather strides,
The little bits of our children out rippling between the
Waves
As the sky explodes for fairer holidays, on an on,
To which we have no business of understanding.