Girl Who Sells Liquor With Indescribable Eyes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Her eyes are tired but not the right color;
She doesn’t love me because I’ve called them blue,
And that was wrong of me,
And everything I have done while breathing has been
To caracole her, to search for her like a blazing fire
Lost in the pines,
Like an airplane dying, or the way some ballerinas go
To sleep-
I am useless otherwise, and I want to drink
Liquor- I want her to serve me everything she sells,
A girl who sells liquor with indescribable eyes.