The Mad King Has To Take A Pee Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Here is another century of suicide
Before I stop to play the game:
I am Peter Pan flying in his basement
Waiting for rosebud to delight my tomb:
Too soon I will be busy
Teaching children to fly:
But your eyes will still haunt me,
Even when I’ve saved enough money
To buy the Spanish Armada in their century:
Before they are destroyed by nature,
I got you this and sent it to you,
And your excuse is that you thought
I was just being friendly,
And you are a strange liar as
I imagine you naked in bed:
You should be the only one who reads
These impoverished lines,
Because they are all that I know for you,
But in kindergarten I knew your name,
As I drew it from the lottery:
You were supposed to me my wife,
But you asked the teacher for a second chance:
I brought flowers, tulips stolen
From my parents’ market,
But instead you walked away as if
In a sort of Spanish trance,
And changed your last name
And your street address before I
Could find you again....