Up Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Up where they are singing,
It will be getting later in the valley—
The angels will be outside,
Shampooing—my wife will still be in the
Shower. And while she does,
I will sneak outside to drink from
The bottle—
I will be sure not to bother her father:
And in my rhyme drunkenness,
Waiting for the surprises of her foreseen
Pregnancy,
I will jump up and down in the fairgrounds
Of my many delusions—
Now that I have known her heart
And I have great abundance—
Even though I do not know how to sing—
There are still delightful children in the playground—
And there is still springtime’s reason in the senses:
See them being born again over and over,
Wedding bouquets thrown over the shoulders
Of the love-grounds of my once muses—
And the animals in the habitats they don’t known
How to get out of—Now like this,
While my wife is being distracted—
Throw the bottle back—
Throw the bottle back—
And wait for the room to get larger—
Wait for the moon and the sun to become
The discombobulated headlights—
Wait for real news in the headlines—
Wait for my son to be born tomorrow—
There in the headlands while no one important
Is looking.