What I Suppose Doesn'T Have To Be Real Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Monday before work, and I’m trying to get out
Again to steal some bases:
I think of girls, and mostly I have longings to write
Them better eulogies:
Maybe I have a longing too to kidnap them above
The clouds,
In the breathless spaces where the sororities
Of their cousins move so finely to make most mammals
Feel broken down.
What eerie baptisms to be made of clouds and thoughts,
Bones no more, no more grease or tears,
Uncorked hinges that effervesce and make years of
Lost girlfriends meaningless,
The solar shade wimpling through us like cheery flags,
Like those feral pets leaping toward a master’s smell,
In another revelry of an esplanade above our walls,
Diademing what I suppose doesn’t have to be real.