Your Divine Dissapearing Acts Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The stores are freshly open; they are waiting
As in this very night the moon sweeps clean the
Streets;
And it haloes a goddess, she is you;
But tonight I went to the theatre with my sister,
And sat for hours just eating peanuts,
Because I couldn’t figure out the attraction without
Your soliloquies, the remote control
Boats in the papier-mâché sea were not there,
Telegraphed by your eyes,
All the blue-green creatures of the zoo well-spun
In their false habitats were gone;
And the little girls were weeping from the cypress
Shoots before transmogrifying into herons,
And they too flew away;
So I drove home, watching out for elk, barely speaking,
So dysfunctional- Went straight to the liquor cabinet
And to bed,
Hoping I might find you there, but you never spoke
To me; unless your eyes were closed and camouflaged;
Restless, I struck out for the moon, and thought to
See you lying there like a flickering lamp in an ancient
Room, but coming to it I saw that it was another
Girl, she herself hoping to find a gentle young man,
But I did not love her,
And making some excuse fell to bed weeping,
Wanting the airplanes you fly upon wherever you are
To land restive like tin-can birds, and you there only passenger
Strung out finally having found a good place to stay the winter.