The Endless And Inevitable Night Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Soon they will outlaw bullfighters,
And I will be homeless, disfigured and in an orchard
That doesn’t
Bloom:
Alma will be up on her hill, making love to her forgotten
Soldier,
And lighting off all of my unrequited fireworks with
A smile;
And I will be howling like something really pitiful
Who can’t keep track of
His ambitions whose only places of importance
Come at strange moments
Down ill refuted highways when the moon is well hung
And the werewolves are making love to
Banshees,
And all of the stores are closed like roses into their
Perfect crux of night,
When even the airplanes have folded their wings to say
Their prayers,
And the most beautiful of kindergarteners have closed
Their all too salty eyes for the endless and inevitable night.