Mistaken For Her Poem by Robert Rorabeck

What you can’t understand of this they will
Teach you in the science fair;
And there is a Nubian whore I am particularly interested in
Named Melody with a star on her hip the
Same color as Alma’s hair;
And I go to sleep in those dreams where I don’t care,
Cradled by an octopus, all I’ve ever worshipped is
Your legs pressed like a mariposa between the pages
Of my book,
Captured and dried on a fire that drinks the pores of coral:
And now I can almost taste her, as she is coming back into the
Neighborhood; and she has everything glossed
From a long day at school; and now all she wants is to bath
Naked in the opulence of my grotto,
The eclipses of my eyes engorging, as she drifts away beneath all
Of those airplanes served by leggy stewardesses who I am
Sure could easily be mistaken for her.