How To Cry Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In the reeds: bottle-rockets—
Cenotaphs shot off like celebrations besides
My scarred cheeks years ago—
Besides girls who don’t echo anymore:
They are done bartending,
Their wings have touched down and have
Folded up softly—
So now there is not a place left on the
Highway that is not marked with
The copper plagiarisms of a cenotaph—
Disney World is a close as death.
The alligators are all left smiling but only
Because they do not know what else
To do any they never learned
How to cry.