Middle Town Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Middle Town



Distant relationships keep ringing
From the coffin’s phone booth,
In the backyard the wolves are howling
To attract the moon closer,
To eat her when her penumbra smiles:
This is the way the world is moving,
Like a ride at the fair you pay to get on:
Now you are about to throw up
All your loose thoughts onto her sodden lips:
Looking down, she smiles up
Somewhere between Hildebrand
And East Bumblef*ck, the people
In their cars driving around the blue suburbs:
The tract housing, the quiet way the
Middle of America feels when it
Goes sleeping through the long sashaying prairies:
The ins and outs between the gilded city
And the wounded wilderness:
In the blink of her eye: cargo trains,
Native American Museums,
Ice-cream parlors, abandoned warehouses,
Homes of the criminally insane:
All the materials laid in the warrens
For the bodies to move amidst life’s shadows.
Seeming to be friends, they step on this,
The broken glass cracks a little more
And changes the appeal of its light:
From the saloon, I can see you crying
In the window:
They are playing our song.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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