The Rest Of The World Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Every night dies into a new month: they die, like little school
Girls who have nothing else to believe
In, who have his name tattooed into the web of their brown
Hand,
Alma- and nothing else about it has to be real; and you don’t even
Have to be a good girl.
Alma: but I still love you tonight, as I would love you any other
Night,
Even though this world is so cruel and unhindered;
And don’t you hear me, Alma: even while he is touching
And making love to you:
He is hardly even enough: he is only the pitiful,
And he has given you two children full of flesh and breath, but any
Man can give you that trick;
But who, otherwise, can give you this- Alma,
Alma, If you ever read this and I still somehow survive,
Please remember that my lips aren’t just the smoky whispers
Of some used up genie; and that I am still right here,
While the traffic purrs and purrs,
And the rest of the world makes love and mows its front yard:
That can be anyone, Alma; but oh god, Alma, only I-
Only I can be this….