Baby Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If we were all Angelina
Jolie, and Brad Bitt,
We’d just spend all day fvcking,
But it would be the way Susie’s
Palms slap puddles;
I mean, real shallow,
Tabloid weather, like two
Nuns mucking

Baby, you must understand
The pain is yours,
The scars the evidence that you are
Here, and let them pass by you
In a victorious cavalcade,

Let them win in court,
And give them all the room they need
To go home to better structures
Stepping gently through the purple
Lilies and burping frogs,
Into the portico where they will
Watch t.v. And have sex,

Baby, I will be yours until the sun
Falls into the sky; Baby, I will be yours
Until my echoes swim in the sea,

And in the atoms of waves the theory
Is proven, an entire metropolis of shrunken
Men, cuckolded and brought there on the
Stem of a dandelion spore....

These are some ideas I have for books,
And a gothic romance where I help Snow White
Escape Disney World;
She laughed at my writing, until the werewolf
Leapt up and took her like a cat takes a mouse
And did away with her behind the couch,

When I went to Hollywood
I never left my truck until all together I was
Arrested,
Spent all my quarters at the arcade,
graduated in lesser faints,
And took her hand and lapped her taint,
But eventually, she took to being what I ain’t,


But, baby,
Look at this place, where the land rolls out
To where you’ve never been, the jobs roiling on
Endless sea,
John Wayne laughing as a cloud,
Fred Astaire pirouetting on the bow of our
Ship,

Baby, we are all broken,
Incapable men, and under the moon the eels
Are black and migratory,
And I should never touch your salt, but
Give into you the throb of my story,
My pain, and the prodigious scars,
I open up to you and smile
Like the sun on the day that it dies.