Glittering Rum Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The night is warm and apoplectic and I am drunk.
I should be out searching for her: she is so close, and
In so many ways, and faces like Janus, like the moons
Or rings of Jupiter: The night spreads diademed by neighborhoods:
Where do they all go, after the last buck is spent and they
Are done calling in their séances; but I am still cartographed
By scars, scars, and sad scars, like inebriate depression,
The constellations of car crashes: Oh I love her, and I
Still do, and have seen her through so many narrow ways and
Dreamy fountains, alone and wandering against the Rocky
Mountains in Colorado, driving up to get my meal: her bosom
Fine and pale, her eyes aquamarine and just as unjustifiable:
I should have loved her and bared her children, if I were a better
Man, or a sports broadcaster: I would have done her by now,
But I only know so many words, frugal, debased: She is a harlequin
Up against the stage of time. No one will remember her name
Or face, but they loved her while she was out and amongst them
And shopping. She didn’t save a nickel, but it didn’t seem to matter
At the time; and I loved her, while she was about, and didn’t
Think of me at all.