Through Oh So Many Ways Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I can hardly taste the liquor
Coming from my mother’s breast,
Like an Easter basket,
Or a hard boiled egg,
And I am wearing a gray suit, so it is
Hard to tell how old I am:
I might be twelve, I might very well be
An old man,
But I will always know how to ride a
Bicycle,
Because once you learn it’s like sex,
And the air is so fine cutting back and forth
Across your neighborhood of skill
That you can hardly remember where you
Come from,
Where you began,
And the sea is just awakening like a housewife,
Her Grecian bosom dun and fertile
Slipping from her petty coat:
She could be the next president with her second
Day eye-makeup:
She could really care less with all that she’s
Gotten,
Even though she’s forgotten how satisfied she
Really is,
And does not know that I have tried approaching
Her through oh so many ways.