The Littlest Of Words To Anyone Poem by Robert Rorabeck

An explanation or a critical interpretation of a lost child
Who my wayward uncle called thick today,
While I unloaded the peaches and said my prayers,
And thought of my father and Alma,
Like two separate constellations, one I would like to worship,
And the other to explore and
Multiply: But I have already traveled so far across the suburban
Heavens, drunkenly, to sleep on her roof,
And watch the static and semipermiable dreams of helicopters
Who never come down, like little boys as misfits, until
They are out of gasoline:
And the beach is long, and my back is warm, and once gain it
Will be morning, and the people will come out of homes
And into cars in driveways,
And seem to evaporate across the world again, without feeling
Much remorse, or saying but the littlest of words to
Anyone.