The Showers Pouring Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Pure torture shackled Prometheus
In front of the television in the middle-
Of South Florida:
The carpet red, the curtains velvet,
The air-conditioning expensive blowing.
The brochures said for a short holiday,
But the ants have already found the cracks
And trail of breadcrumbs, so along his
Grayish shanks they are crawling;
He quivers trying to remain politely
Knowing there are gods about, though maybe
They’ve all gone down the street where
He can hear the lions roaring, and there
Was just a car-accident, and the ambulance is
Coming, and right now the studio audience
Is laughing, and above him like so many
Hindu gods, the ceiling fans are pirouetting;
And Cupid and Psyche are chewing bubble-gum
Over by the piano, playing awful romancing.
The cat is purring, and the dog is snoring,
And coming later that same afternoon
The showers pouring.