Even If I Call Again Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Shallow wounds, I know you are here, and I know
I can't win - cadaver with a bouquet of roses, you will
Go home and home and home to
Him,
Going through the rainstorms and underneath the overpasses.
This is just my sad nocturnal memory for you:
You live across the railroad tracks, or in another world,
While Saturn has all of her rings,
As you sometimes wear the rings I bought for you from
The sunshine flea market- Don’t worry, my scars
Will heal even as my heart fails and they may bury
Me with the nameless prostitutes underneath the roses
Smelled by all of the tourists: this is just my thing
As the gardens open up a store of stolen jubilee to
The rain,
And you smile through the afternoons like a creature burning
At the seams who is lighter than air, but will never come
Even if I called again.