Without Any Audience Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Time for pigeons packed away in excelsior packed away
Beneath the skyscrapers of Shanghai—
Time for a honeymoon in the foothills of the Himalayans—
And half-blood children in
The oasis of a penny-arcade: there they will be, the fulfilled
Exegesis of my father's loins:
Lions and housewives done with their laundries and folklore—
And an arcade blaring away underneath the
Sky—
Leading to the secret hollows of fairies no bigger than
A venal midway's prizes—
They seem to be dancing and making love in a diorama
Within the windowsill across from the church—
And inside from where the dwarfs live in the palmettos anyways—
If this was a holiday, they would be out upon the bond of
Any news—
But they seem to be keeping to themselves,
And whispering softly—
Like fireworks going off without any audience.