Will Work For Food Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Work me like a dog.
Pay me like a whore.
The decapitated reindeer's
Head
Drips clotty red into the
Pasture
(Merry Christmas
You bought me)
What does it matter?
No pretty girls are
Available.
All the pretty girls
Are loosely tangles:
Engaged in Oregon,
Married in Colorado,
Serving drinks
In deep amnesia
The sun is a long
Distance
Swimmer doing laps
In the sky's
Highschool gym.
The seasons change
The color of her eyes
The fastforward love
Into death,
Corrupted into beds of
Eternal rest.
Choaking on the red flesh
Enchanted by the
Jealous stepmothers,
They slumber-