Where It Is Most Needed Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Houses on rivers pirouetting just for the
Reflections of their lovers,
Housewives stuck in the snags of the high grasses
Like torn kites,
While rabbits snuffle the grasses;
They eat the velvet thistles and they make no
Corrections,
The terrapins returning to the containers of
Eucharist;
You could say that they are touching themselves,
If you listened to anything different than the young mouths
Of rock ‘n roll,
Like the splinter religions of this country,
You think that your young gods are priceless, but they
Are just hungry;
And they want you mouth in the soft though tourist
Light of the Castillo of Saint Marcos
Where there is only saw grass, and I don’t know
How many of these disinfected heirlooms you’ve been with;
And it shouldn’t matter to me-
When I barely stop at the rest stop, I cannot even begin to
Look at my face;
And I drive by you and around again like a bird enraptured
By your flowers held by your favorite man;
Soon you will be dying, you don’t know; or maybe you
Only need a rest and soon you will be sleeping,
As this new cold front rolls in and pushes out the nimbus,
Does away with any unnecessary imagination;
As if mowing the stars,
And you can wake up again and believe in anything you want to,
Like the amnesias of a fire hydrant that doesn’t have to stay
Where it belongs,
Or where it is most needed.