The Killers Of Real Life Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I have a beautiful dream of vampires
And their kiss.
The fangs of your new life grow
Like contaminated roots,
Probing my sandy foundation.
We fall in love again.
Rent a room in Tallahassee,
Kiss each other like long lost pets
Newly reacquainted.
I don’t want to know the details
Of your exploits,
But you say them to me anyway:
Like a sly politician giving a speech,
A filibuster until help arrives:
You were married and had a child,
Loved men you found fuming out
Of the lackadaisical cracks in the
Sideway you walked down
Trying out your novel ego.
Your voice sang like malevolent laughter,
Great pain without a hint of suicide.
I find out I didn’t want to be there,
So I took a shower. You called over a
Young Indian who I could tell was not Jewish.
He winked at me and took you
And your pinstriped girlfriend to eat somewhere.
All that you’d done to me has made you famished,
The way you threw those once existing days
Like an ancestor’s porcelain doll tossed
Out the window to shatter
Along the withered umbilical-cord
Of newly born highway.
I just want to get out of there so I wake up: 7: 20
My sister is over visiting.
She just got over a flesh-eating bacteria,
So I crawl up the stairs like a war veteran triaged
After amputation and tell her
The killers who happen to you in real life
Sometimes search for you while you sleep.