More powerful by number, <br />The larger we get, <br /> <br />And new scars held in our hand <br />At the petting zoo: <br /> <br />The otter takes off its oily pelt, <br />Actually an unemployed woman, <br />Look at how she cracks an oyster off <br />Her chest, <br />And drinks all your father's sea-green <br />Booze. <br /> <br />Oh, <br />What fun we could have if we didn’t <br />Live at home, <br />If we hadn’t been gone such an awful <br />Long time, <br /> <br />And the busses are already done going home, <br />Doing that strange dance after the entrancing <br />Ice-cream truck <br />Through our neighborhood; <br /> <br />But all the same, <br />I could bite my lip and live next to her again, <br />Watch the girls in their roller-skates, <br />The everyday cumulous-nimbus tromping in, <br /> <br />I could put her in my eyes like a ship <br />In a bottle, <br />And pretend for the rest of this strange sequence <br />Of afternoons that I am someone famous, <br />Immaculately careworn, <br />Who never had a father nor was ever contradicted <br />In a dinner conversation warmed <br />By spiced rum and the glow of the fading <br />Evening’s television.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-glow-of-the-fading-evening-s-television/
