The Far Distant World Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I want to be weeping right now: I want to
Be right here,
Staring down the road after all the comely young
Runways are kidnapped,
And the sea has been taken back by the moon,
And the substitutes are suffering in the adulteries of
Bad grammar,
While under the heavens of the scars she left me,
The oranges globe,
And the busses sit and whisper with the phosphorescent
Insects in the forests of their inner pornographies
That this is just a passing game-
A silent fever stopped like a cat at the edge of the canal,
A housewife turned away, cursing the brilliant
Promises of the far distant world
That lies repeatedly just over her unchallenged shoulder.