Not To Tell Us To Anyone Else Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now the time continues like bicycles carrying on,
While after work Alma goes home and catches up with herself,
While I have so many things left to be saved,
While the bodies jump ship, forsaking their instruments
Or anything else accordant to their metamorphosis:
While Natalie cleans up and I try not to starve,
Even though it isn’t hardly even winter,
And we have just meant underneath the overpasses in passing:
And we have made love to the cold meats of our bodies’
Retreating,
For we have been mutually hurt in the cold cellars that tell
So many mitigated fairy tales that it feels like Christmas; .
But not here, and according to the facts of her gods:
Not anywhere else, as the night comes and unfolds her hair,
And promising in whispers not to tell us to
Anyone else.