Pedro's Siesta Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Taking a siesta with pedro in the
Middle of noon,
Looking good for a ways and made
A five dollar tip,
Which you can do here all days.
So yesterday old Betty said I looked like
A blonde version of Aston Kutcher:
I punched her several times in the eye
To cure her glaucoma and reminded
Her to call me Jodie,
While the lights leave us, only to return,
Like misunderstood and confused lovers
Bighting their lips,
Inadvertently letting the dog out.
And I am in my bunk rustling with the
Dry needles,
Thinking of my dogs in Arizona- Trying to
Become the boy good enough to drink her
Wine,
Wanting to pay her to hold her hand for
A day at the zoo,
Or for her to become my junoesque shade tree
Budded, titted, something that could
Move away at any minute
With the traffic,
And yet something indescribably more beautiful:
Her breath my billfold
While ducks like mock monarch butterflies
Pretend to be swans in the man made lake
Trying to look like the hazy resilience around
Beautiful old age,
Like a French impressionist I will always be too
Insouciant to remember her name.