The Floating Constellations Of Ashamed And Misused Riverboats Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The river is full of dreams—
I haven’t seen them, but I
Would not lie about them:
She has the colors of our flag scaled
And swimming in her nicer estuaries,
And later on they go to her boudoir
To make love atop restless satin
While the old movies play lovelier,
And less attentive romances;
All in order, shallow to deep,
She is kissing the displaced leaders of
Our nation and one little black boy who
Lost his shoe polish only to become a greater
Gentleman:
She kisses him under the arch which resembles
Getting lucky far above the saturnine graveyard
Of bliss:
Tourists and their trained carnival children
Congratulate her:
I pay to go to class under her skirt,
And looking up chew gum even though I am
Not supposed to be;
And she is a substitute of a representation of
Something supposed to be purely heavenly,
And I am not Mark Twain, but try to pretend to
Her that I am, and I tell you this is a trusting
Secret,
But I have a hard time understanding the Latin
The wind spins curling the ribbons in her hair,
All the time far above this yard so green it appears
To be a headless graveyard leading to the steps
Down to the Mississippi and into
The floating constellations of ashamed and misused
Riverboats.