And Then This Poem by Robert Rorabeck

It doesn’t hurt when it rains: it sounds
Repeatedly staccato- daydreams in a classroom of
Freckles,
The old joys of kindergarten: and now I live alone,
And take strikes off of this
While sunshine works all night on the other side of
The road,
Doggy style, smelling like road kill,
But making some other man’s flowers happy:
Landscaping,
And the secret terrapin of incest: the failed boys at play:
Wet like paper in their pants:
Defeated baseball- ropes that lay impotent in the grass
Near the footstools of half nude Madonna’s and their
Ugly sisters:
Like snakes without backbone, slipping their tongues
Into the singsong elbows of greenery:
And giving off dismissive promises all night
For which they never receive the right percentage of
Compensations:
And then in the morning: hurricanes, rodeos:
The sad hibiscus who knows what happened to the little
Girl: rattle snake clutches as soft as abuse;
Lost tricycles in the corrugated drainage: and then this:
And now this.