For Her To Love Me Poem by Robert Rorabeck

So long have I had to resend my sins of love,
Packed away in the glove box or
The attics for better, and less precarious men,
Considering the heredity of my complexion,
And the state that unabashed sunlight puts me in;
But I was beautiful once:
I was beautiful once in a fairytale halfway through
High school
When I ran away to Michigan,
When S- made crocks of clay and won the
Irish lottery;
But what was I doing all this time, hoping for the
Quiet interludes of beauty between the street lights,
And the soccer field’s esplanades:
Oh- Oh, I loved her: I loved her, her indescribable eyes,
Or her amber Latin eyes,
Light the drunk street lights for pirates,
But it wasn’t enough; it wasn’t enough;
And the cops come and shine their lights all back and forth
All over our amusements, but it wasn’t ever enough;
And I loved her, oh god I loved her,
But now she just street races coffins:
She does her thing, she sells her thing, and she is pierced
Like a moth dying in the sepias of your church yard-
And I loved her,
And her voice is always singing more easterly,
But it wasn’t ever enough that I loved her enough,
So I sling my wine,
And cry with my face buried in the graveyards of my plaid
Shoulder blade,
As the cops come shining their lights for Christmas,
Because my presents were never enough
For her to love me.