The Faintest Idea Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Rains have stopped for awhile their bemoaning,
But I am so sick that I think I would like to die:
I pee in a cup,
I turn my head and cough and pretend playing doctor
With myself:
Outside, maybe the cats are streaking across the
Palates, maybe they have invented a new color,
Or something that can be described as real:
Maybe she is flooding with tears and taking the greatest
River down to a home
Of darker slavery where yet the coolest lights of
Amusement play:
Maybe she is selling herself into another bedroom:
Maybe she is becoming another woman for another man she
Loves;
And in the yard or the garden, over grown, there
Is baseball and marble thugs and teacups talked over by
Little girls who don’t have the faintest idea where I belong.