The Make Believe Tombstones Of A Graveyard Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Homeless men there you are, sweeping the road,
High in the alcoves of the liquors you find,
Pirouetting as you do in the noon time traffic:
I wonder if you’ve seen the entire country and tasted
The tears of its Siamese oceans:
I wonder what you have done, like loose change
Discarded by the existence of those who can't
Be your peers:
And I am too lonely to be like you, except by the
Fires of my insouciant inebriations,
While I call out to you like panhandling, like a little
Child looking up to a wiser brother through
The make believe tombstones of a graveyard
Set up around him,
As if those were the things he was meant to believe.