Too Far Away To Listen Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Which leg should die first:
On the contrary, I am sure things are getting worse,
And her eyes should look further away:
Bukowski should return in full conflagration,
And take charge of all I’ve forgotten,
And I should say her name:
I should say her name, but I am a vampire hunter
Without hope: Come and take my death and check
My billfold:
There is nothing here so important that it should be allowed
To stare out impishly under the stars and hope
To be understood:
Hood this curse, and gunny sack,
Take it home for a meal, nurse your sweet, toothy brood
On your pap, steal what you can not find wandering
Around the feral borders of your mind:
Wash the chassis of cars of strange young masters,
Check the stars for ensuing disasters,
And hurry on home to your curt your masters,
Twine your slenderest of fingers into his slender mustache;
And let your eyes fall away to the side, like sad toys;
Let your eyes fall away to the side like sad toys that I
Have refused to put away- uncork the rood and let it sail straight
Over the national forest of hot springs and antlers:
Let your spirits giggle nastily and in love; let the kindergarteners
Go out underneath spittooned sprinklers and enjoy the plastic
Heather,
While you and your bo lie suppliant rocking in the trailer
Atop the uneasy esplanade while your young toddlers learn how
To stand upright, mighty-fisted fighting cougars
And the wolfish who grin like politicians being just reintroduced
Like strangers to the headshots of your youthful ambitions,
Who sigh and bay behind their thrush of walls,
But your children are already too far away to listen.