Women Out In The Routes And Bays Of Old 66 Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I’ll watch sitcoms with Charlie Sheen,
Or I’ll make love with my dogs- anything to
Pass the time
Until we are set up and ready to sell everything,
And I’ll be out under the white tent like a
Giant, dumbo lung,
Like a circus tent beside the desert stream
Without any midgets or pacaderms;
Not saving anything, but not meaning any harm;
And beautiful women will come in and decide
Upon the show,
Like girls I used to imagine that I knew,
And I’ll breath the clays with them, and the skies
Will bleed from the commercial airplanes and their
Sharp straight wings;
And I should say now that I’ve only been keeping this
Up to pass the time,
And from the bay in Catalonia a block south of where
Dali was born,
You can see a woman standing out in the rocks waiting
For her man’s return,
And you can drink sangria while watching her,
And even trick yourself into thinking she’ll notice you-
But that’s not how it is-
She’s graduated from a fine college,
And is smoking her brand of cigarettes- Picking at
Her crotch of rose thorns, she has a curve on her lips of
Stone, a great philosopher because great philosophers
Said so, she has a many disciplined degree,
And she could help you out if she’d only condescend
A word,
But her merry-go-round is done hunting;
And though she is beautiful and heartbroken,
She knows so many words she belongs in a museum;
You can get your pants wet over her,
And swim out into the frame, but she will still be made of
Stone:
She knows so many words,
But not any of their meaning.