I want to flatter myself until I’m dead,
And raise up gray-haired Lazarus
And thank the Lord,
And scratch my pen:
Realize now what the dawn really is,
A commercial for a tipping glass,
Her eyes are lazy and casting shadows
Quietly dancing above the grass:
And I can’t really say why I do this,
Why I down another one,
Why I haven’t been in bed with a woman
Since the distant past:
Its not scholarly, its not even healthy;
And its no use:
I’ll move away. I’ll flip burgers, I’ll mow
The yard and then bow to my insouciant audience
Keeping all the words I know scribbled on a
Napkin and I’ll use it to wipe off the humid
Glances the housewives give slanting halfway down
Their porcelain abutments:
I don’t know why I do this; its not even a choice,
And I’ll admit this while staring straight at you,
Because I figure its you who really knows why
And then the sun lights up and f$cks the clear
Blue sky.

Robert Rorabeck

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-clear-blue-sky/