Useless Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In the morning, work- and the silence of
Cars going by their way:
Like rattlesnakes in their joys of being unperturbed:
Like dogs who whisper to the cats
In the rain;
And I jogged past your house so many times
After midnight,
Never saying a thing, the night balm, melting ice-cream:
The forts on her shoulders naked of
Their tourisms:
Not a cloud in the sky, and the heavens as peaceful there
While you slept in that house
Next to your mother’s womb, dreaming of your children,
Alma; who would soon come-
As you would learn better English, and your mother
Would wash dishes for a living;
And I would find you for a little while, before you too
Would drive along your way,
After I had given you fireworks, and white gold in the shape
Of a rosary- and flowers,
Flowers- and anything else I could think of- all of
It useless, as your love slipped away.