Take Me Away Poem by Robert Rorabeck

My farts smell like the paramours of death,
And I no longer rhyme-
I’ll only climb mountains if they reside under
Rain clouds.
All the paraphernalia of dead Indians I’ve
Already dug up and sold to the
Grocery store-
She has a child, and the day is long-
If taking on the bus, the fieldtrip is infinite and
Filled with the troubling reflections
Ricocheting from the tinted windows of
Social banishment;
And I have to dogs, and a poem now and then,
Whistled to the woodpile chipped from
The green;
And I have no clothes to wear, as I am about to go
Into debt, or maybe I’ll break into the
Castillo de San Marcos and light of green cannons
And fireworks for the tourists-
Maybe I’ll kill one donkey, like in the movie you
Don’t know,
But no one will ever read a thing about me,
For these are the babblings of a shunt,
Triaged in a muscled viaduct, waiting out the war,
Listening the trundle of the tourists prattle,
My mother is making love upstairs, or coming down
From the shower; I’ve almost saved up enough money to
Buy someone else love
While she cleans her plate, the crabs legs like the
Armor of a knight eaten by a witch;
And as she gets up to leave, cradling new life from
The crinoline and poisonous holy of her flesh,
She never suspects that I’ve been sleeping underneath
The pylons this whole time, waiting for her to finish
So that the tide mighty hurry up
And take me away.