The Hapless And The Living Poem by Robert Rorabeck

We are going to go by boat to the
Park:
Just a little toy boat you can barely stand in,
That would tip over if the lions roar
Too loudly,
Or if the pretty but apoplectic housewives stood
For awhile looking at it funny,
Cursing with their wine-
But even though the rivers are all dry, we will
Get there if we try;
And there are gaunt fevers under the tall, tall mounts,
Just amnesiacs dreaming themselves foot upon foot
Taller,
All of the angels cheering them on, happily jeering from
The theatres of their pulpits-
I want to smell you as we sail- want to know you
The way my dogs know the world:
Because all the other women have gone beneath the
Current of your patinas affected melancholy-
Now they aren’t even echoing but should be
All but satisfied in close-lipped trances;
And I will quit this soon and go outside the doorway
Which denotes for a little while the space,
The coral seething paths between locis of rest and
Gift-giving;
And even though it seems we’ve done it all before,
We’ll continue waking up at it, for such is the way of
The hapless and the living.