The Most Terrible Day Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Imperfections spoke out loud on airplanes
Fallen down so far:
I get back at you by going to see whores, but
I can’t even get hard:
I am incredibly wounded by the way I remember how
You moved against me,
Like a piece of ambered driftwood in a stone-stiff sea:
And the light house of your eyes with a coy light
Like the greenness of an indoor storm,
The way it must have led all that I held safe inside me
Astray,
Because you have gone tomorrow, leaving me wrecked
In the most terrible day.