The Starvations Of Your Hopeless Supper Times Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Bountifully I enroll in the space that my body enfolds;
I know this through my senses and through my parents senses,
And I remember the suburban neighborhoods I used to
Skip out of school in, in your town,
And smell you all around even when you wasn’t around:
You were always going to higher ground, past the pastures and the observation
Centers of sciences, either bad or good; and if you ever unbuttoned
Your blouse for a man it was in a house in which I’ve never been,
Or probably never seen;
And if you were in a sorority while I was away, I am sure it was lit
Up with the laughter of your clever cruelty;
And now you grow your beautiful children like glowing bobsleds
Down the banks of the slopes I have had to climb up all of the
Way past tree line just to get a peek down into
The private life that I couldn’t otherwise seem to find; and what a sight
To find you weeping up at me, begging fitfully for my
Mercies through the
Starvation of your hopeless supper times.