To Make You Wet Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Grandfather will have a new poem this
Weekend,
But I won’t be the one who gives a dime for
His tombstone,
And I am almost gone,
While the intelligentia could give a damn-
They don’t even know who I am,
But I still go on swinging my thing:
My sword, my gun, my pen:
To rust on after midnight because I have seen
Kelly naked:
The second or third girl I loved,
And she has five or so children, and they all
Have guns,
And race horses,
And they cannot lose, because they have a beautiful
Mother I want to go down under the crocodiles.
The bruise:
And all the night is flighty and all the night is good,
And I just want to run my engine nightly under her
Goddamned hood:
Painted up like a Celtic woman, someone who makes
Love to his aunt,
While the nuclear engines are ignited,
And the feral supplants the land of shopping malls and
Universities of well placed granite:
And I just want to love her,
Or I just want to fill her up:
I have been away from home for so long,
Just to feel her warm tits squeezed like utters in my
Grasp would be enough,
With so far to go:
If my face could look good for one night under the moon,
Down by the trough of the milkmaid’s song,
I could have her good in the mowed
Grass:
It wouldn’t take long:
Kelly, the girl I named my cat after, my most
Feral and antisocial pet,
I want to get to know you
And to make you wet.