Between The Sand Dollar Leaves Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The day is good on Sunday before noon:
No church, no gunfights: I will just touch my troubled face
Again and then I’ll drink,
I’ll slug my buffoon while my starfish is not there:
I cut her in two like a paper cut in snowy weather beneath the
Migrating wings of commercial airplanes,
And she said her insouciant thrill, and did her insouciant thing:
And now she is in love with another lover according to her will
While I am closing on my first house on Wednesday,
Erin,
And if you still are heady from the bouquets of my swill,
Then I am still just as empty as the boys who build upon you,
Like a Disney World invading the reality of the sandy dunes,
Obscuring the pathway of greasy haired cougars,
And the key deer which flit
Like latchkey children playing games between the sand dollars leaves of
The coco plums.