Of The Sad Misgivings Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Of the sad misgivings which remain
With the afterthoughts of
Jet-streams—words that appear beautiful
On the page,
As the housewives in their streams of
Sorority go home
Again and again to him—
Lives get filled up just like cemeteries
The same way the tears some dreary angels
Cried can fill up a lake—
Afternoons molt into the obscurity of
Crepuscule,
Where amateur housewives dance with
Open extension chords—
When they are stung, the whole tableaux
Becomes a faux pieta
That the frogs watch still waiting to be
Kissed,
As the foxes kiss the faeries in the aloe
Even though they do not know what for.