How True To Life Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The clock always seems to be reading
9: 11, which is a good time to be drinking,
Since she isn’t coming out,
And all the grass all around the castle is fully
Grown and there are so many rabbits
And snakes in it you think you’ll never starve;
And it is an orchard, or a clearing,
Or a divine place for different states of witchcraft
Above which the airplanes are always leaping,
And the deer, even the tiny key deer, are always
Trying to emulate them:
Bounding like the lower forms of aristolean spheres
You learned about in your community classes on
The pre-Socratics; and somewhere off in the woods
There are houses; and you‘ve gotten it confused,
Because the dogs are purring- In fact, the woods are only
A green ring, and it is mostly houses,
And buildings building bigger concerning their importance,
And the churches are very small and populated by
Various species of talking rodentia and souvenirs-
The televisions are always preaching though, and food
Can be delivered to where you lay barefoot in the grass,
You head up and waiting for her to appear or disappear
Atop the top window of the tower;
It is the easiest thing to do, and there was one time
When you thought you heard her singing or taking a shower,
But now she is so captivated by what is going on inside
Her little world beneath the airplanes and flying men,
That she doesn’t even care to prove to you
How truly to life she might be.