Thousand Flavors Of Housewife Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Banished from the court of her cherished liquor,
I forget to look for anything beautiful,
I see the backside of my mother going into the
Other room reflected on the door overlooking
The end of all things-
I start out with a sack over my shoulder meaning to
Steal a thousand flavors of housewives,
But I only know a few things to whistle,
Even a fewer words: I have a repulsive novel,
A dog with bad farts, and a sister of serpents and scales;
But she is not real.
The girl is real outside my sold house and down a ways.
She’s been waiting for me beside the fire- I shouldn’t
Think that she likes to roller skate,
Because it bugs her when I do; but I still think it, and I
Don’t come and she falls in love with the closest of men,
And I take to new neighborhoods tongue in cheek,
The sky flashing like a clock out of whack-
The housewives steam out of their cracks; and I put my
Tongue in their warm pets- We move with the traffic
And collect at the end of the highway they were smart enough
To lead down to the tide, because that’s where everything
Not kept inside goes: we go there.
We go over the flea market, not stopping even to relieve ourselves.
I speak my four words and they unbundled and disrobe.
Yes, in fact, they fall away like children, weeping; they all get
Their own species at the end of the work day,
They never call out they are so happy, they swing in the waves,
And I have never seen anything so happy,
No matter which way they left,
And I will never see anything so happy again.