What They Are Worth Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I told her that if she was my girl,
I’d give her all of the money that we need:
She laughed at me and spit in my face,
While the tide receded:
The airplanes took to the sky too, jingling their
Drinks,
And counting sideways the greened corks over the earth,
Dastardly and menacing for the neophyte superheroes
Crammed into the out of work phone booths:
And who knows if they would ever know just
Exactly what they are worth.