Still-Life In The Cement Lagoon Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now going into the tossing rum,
Kitty corned by all three of these dogs—
In a loci of rest under a roof when it monsoons:
Snails go slower when asleep,
And I can feel them humping their hollow stones
Across my beautiful mess;
And outside, and far down from here,
There is nothing trapped in the waves,
And she goes there entirely free and lucid,
Maybe a girl I knew from high school brilliantly metamorphosed,
Maybe something else, giving off her swift illusion,
Pretending to dance while standing perfectly still
And smoking a cigarette, gossiping with the first
Hints of morning when there is so many people to ring up,
And all of them in a trance watching her
Like a piece of legged art out on the curb on
The parking lot while the world changes all about her
And doesn’t mean a thing;
And the cars drive by more steadily,
Until everything is in its place, and there is peace on earth,
And finally, with everything fully awakened and looking
Around, she is gone.