Nothing Else To Lose Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Vague and beautiful obtuse, ’
I am the wino in the satin sheath,
The guy in charge of the remote control boats,
Or at least that is who I would like to be
As I wonder why you keep that moist taught
Graveyard so well clinched between your legs,
While in the least I very love you,
Which isn’t good grammar, and I’ve spent the better
Part of the evening looking for the moon to denote
Airplanes,
Not thinking of either of those muses,
Just the girl from Columbia who delivers lunch to me:
I could fall in love and watch her spread out her gladness
Across the glades of the sea,
But she is probably only interested because I am the only
Americano along her route,
A curiosity, like china in a shop of bulls:
All these tiny matadors who populate South Florida can
Get tiring after awhile,
And yet, if Diana only needs one man to string her bow,
To fletch her arrows,
Than I am the man for her: A good man, gray headed,
Yellow of teeth who still gets carded in Arizona when he went
Out once a week to buy his cheep liquor,
But now there is so little proof otherwise except that he still
Gets drunk and goes out to the graveyard swings and makes
The airplanes cavort along with his secular censer,
Proving in the very least that his shoes are very wet from working
On the yard or esplanade all day,
And that he has nothing else to lose.