The Shopping Malls Over A Tomb Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Don't you know the cars driving away
Sounding like raindrops
On the highway that isn't a dream but is getting louder
And louder as it too becomes a vortex,
Or something else provided for that doesn't
Pay it back—and the otters who are another
Species and who could care nothing at all for
Baseball or any other sports that are never their own,
Still sleeping headily in the manmade estuaries,
Catering to their own hearts in the noontimes
In which all of the housewives I bet are too busy
To come home and see the heavens that bloom there
In their absences like creation myths over the
Shopping malls of a tomb.