The Bottom Of An Amputated Sea Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Okay, I think that woman loves me
From the patience of her open transom,
Or she has been staring for so long:
Doesn’t she know that I could spell for the love
Of her:
That I would overspill and flood my love deep into
Her crescent before she had a good second to understand:
I would break out of school for her, and get
Into fist fights down in the deep and runny valleys beside
The ice-cream truck:
As Sharon looks up from her tit sucking, maybe she is
Seeing be past the science museum and all of its mannequins
Of heavenly bodied astronaughts:
Maybe even past the mermaid and the butterfly house
In the sweet emptiness of the zoo:
Maybe she is seeing me coming my hair outside my own
Window of this new yellow hotel;
Or maybe my words are just as empty as a car resting nearer
The bottom of an amputated sea.