This Careless Dream Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I feed my dogs steak as I wait for April:
I will almost be as old as Jesus; and I eat peanut
Butter and jelly on white bread, and think how
Such a briny sea flowed forth from the wound on
His side; how he could have starred in any movie
At that point;
And if I had known him, and joined him there,
With the thief and the other man; If I had knelt with his
Mother and Mary Madeleine, how I could have felt a
Part of something, and helped him down from
That sacrifice his father gave for the
Business retreat,
And put him in his tomb, and played something glitzy
On the piano, and filled up the wilderness outside
With Broadway:
Thoze were some sick sons of b$tches who turned him in,
Who gave him those scars they couldn’t do alone:
I have that evidence too, and here I am with
My dogs, above you all, floating like a gray-haired
Zeppelin over the aging Manifest Destiny,
Seeing how even now the sea waits like a hungry leopard,
Blue and lapping, for someone to forget to close the
Door to this careless dream.