With All Of My Scars Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Embroidered with all of my scars
Why don’t we buy Chinese food on Christmas:
And then we can eat together and enjoy the smacking of our
Warmth and we can always look into our eyes
Afterwards, sated, and blood on our snout
And laugh out loud and out of doors at the school kids
Collecting there
Like snowflakes in our yards: and then you will tell to me
By the words from your lips that we can never
Understand even though we are struggling up from the canyons
To get to Phoenix by our cars:
We are not Navajo, and we spin across the earth:
We eat ice-cream and light off fireworks and whatever else
I do not know:
You see, Alma: you fall asleep in the very same house as your sisters,
Though you have made love to me almost three dozen times
Which is as sacred to me as donuts are to cops:
And I am your dog: and I am entirely gone into the poppies
That I guess you never deserved unrequited and from a bachelor
Who spent too long in the sanctities of universities embalmed:
As the newborn hatchlings lactate from the sky and from
The summit towards which we are hiking,
Bringing our bones as offers- or otherwise just dying to see you
Off- as your lay your shoulders bare as moonlight through
Aspens and other similes which I guess would make you laugh and
Which you would fretfully disavow.