The Distant Spectators Of This Closed Story Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Too late the good guys divvied up what I needed
To survive,
The sun the personalities of the opera on my body,
A lucky curse,
Trees pensive without water,
Rattlesnakes in mirages of water parks in the caesuras
Of the stony turf.
If I’d begun a better way, I’d be a bull park in the
City:
Sneak thieves would live off my green, and the silver
Sisters would crowd me:
Sharon would know what I mean,
The zoo over spilling, the words just spume, the tourists
Well sated on astronaut ice-cream:
Instead, don’t know what I am doing, believing in darker
Metaphors,
I strangle flowers: I am just a cenotaph in the wavering
Park- The sea has gone away for another girl,
The world it occupied is naked of wildlife and the stars
Have turned their backs, window shopping not anymore the
Distant spectators of this closed story.