Tiger Cake Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Perturbations in New Times Roman:
I am like a young girl, drunken on the street,
Almost perfected breasts momentarily ruined
By acne,
Wondering, momentarily drunken,
How will I get home—
But I am in Shanghai and I live on the other
Side of the world.
For now, it is a beautiful place to get lost
In, but it is only because I am drunken
And lucid—

Now that I have my own family,
I don't write anymore:
I don't go down that beautiful way, anonymously:
My brother in law, a communist, just sold
10,000,000 copies of some book:
He is paid exquisitely for a Chinese: 8,000
RMB a month plus a 50,000 bonus on Chinese
New Years

(you can make almost the same working at
A McDonald's in America.)

But, oh, what a beautiful world.
My father-in-law is dead, but he is following
Me; he has magical powers and has agreed
To help me raise my children.
Together we will put them into a position of
Moderate wealth—
For now, he comes back every seven days
And eats the offerings of fish heads and tiger cake:
I can't blame him,
Famishing through storm-filled doorways.
Meanwhile, the world-wide economy is collapsing;

But fortunately for me, I lost my job two years ago, anyways:
I make some money at the flea-market—
Six figures, it turned out to be—
I make more money than the principle of that flea bitten high school—
The yellow eucalyptus turn their heads towards sunset:
The snow melts before it hits the ground in Shanghai,
But the pipes still freeze—

Beautiful women, drooling, look up before
They look both ways—
And this almost feels like an adventure novel
Or an epic fantasy,
I have written so little—
But tonight, tonight:
I have stolen some more booze from my mother-
In-law—
And the feeling is warm,
Like an apothecary moments before Romeo and
Juliet's epiphany—

Or my wife awakening in the middle of the night,
Mouthing that she loves me,
Giving me an option just before I sky dive
And allowing Rimbaud's drunken boat to carry me away.