The Lips Of Fine Gentlemen Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Clowns inside the spirit of the indoor theatre—like
Housewives spread across the backyard pools a mile away
From the sea—
Like diamonds spread across the mirages of a desert—
And their time comes every afternoon—
And when they look up every cloud takes their vision
As they remember the Alamo
Or somewhere else they had to live for awhile
When their mothers were not home but went about kissing
The lips of fine gentlemen on the other side of the television—
And it sparked our interests for awhile
As the forest fires burned—and the airplanes leapt like fireworks
Skipping through the ashes of the sky.