Singing As She Curses Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Hard up from here- a castaway of junkyards
But feeling let down- movement in the gimbals
Of weeds- swore parts for relationships that
Never existed, walking my dog alone in the park,
And knowing the names for so few of the things
In nature:
Time passing me around with the other people
Who move so nearly, but always so far away:
The secrets kept secret,
Probably even no existent- the real work out on
The signs above the road, proselytizing to
The traffics and tourisms:
And she is moving there, high in her resorts and
Bawdy outfits,
Keeping a song bird to her lips and going around me
Like a spell, enjoying herself without ever
Coming down,
And singing as she curses.