La De Da Poem by Robert Rorabeck

How many times should I start new lines,
While thinking of your eyes, or that your gaze is all
I see looking at my words. I smirk to think that I can spell
Well enough to make your breasts hard, to apply
Posthumous valentines day kisses to your lips from these
Buzz bombing airplanes, these tap-dancing digit-fritters:
Oh Lord, I don’t know what I do, except that I do it often
From my neon sarcophagus I take requests. I don’t say anything
But I line them up and shoot them down, and then all night
With the ghosts of my friends we play video-games in the
Lulls of the tide. We don’t know why George Washington crossed
The Delaware except to get to the other side, and I guess he did-
He was probably trying to get to you- These words are a highway
Of the same thing. They are meaningless without you, but they
Have no script, anyways- The stay open twenty for hours
Waiting for you to step in and undress and lay down beside them
And carry on like passionate monsoons of smooches even though
High school is over, but it lingers: It lingers like the oil-slicks
Of a latchkey daycare, and I don’t know the words to the song
On your lips, so I’ll hum it:
La de da.