Nation Of Used Car Love Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If your warm legs were seen by your husband,
How would he spend his time kayaking
On you like the Loxahatchee
River:
I can only smile like a belly of mud to think how he has done
It to you every time for seven happy years or more
In little trailer parks upon the beds of the homely river:
Does it feel differently than the other boys who did it to you before,
To make you feel, your despondent corneas never dilating,
Never turning channels.
The greater monoliths of the sky were never christened after you,
Nor the amusement parks they were created for,
But I think they should have- if you had given me this time,
What a country we would live in:
Beautiful, vibrant, huffing like an entire paratroop of hearty men;
And the turnstiles never evacuating,
The musicals without interruption, the constant pollinations of
Joyful traffic, and the little boys flying around and fornicating
With the hi-jinx of their bicycle sports-
The greenness of limpid unicorns you’ve never experienced
The new car smell of my thorax and a-jax.
We could drink to your children of both atmospheres,
And all the sixteen forbidden seas. Didn’t I say that I knew your shadow
Was more precious than the legs of every lathering ibex;
But you just fell in love with a coworker, as they say that they
Always do; and that is your nation of used-car love.