Boys With No Name Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Words who like customers come in
Awfully late,
But who are they to say: they are looking beautiful
And they have mistaken the halogens for
A baseball field of sun:
And one team has one, and the other has looked into my
Eyes,
To see that I am scarred, and their eyes know
And will know forever as they look away,
As they turn to Africa and all that cliched darkness:
As my old teachers come into the fruit market and
Remind my mother of tattoos I got in Barcelona my
Junior year of high school:
The last time I made love was in a Spanish orange grove
Overlooking the cliffs,
The perfumes of citrus and suicide,
Like a super sweet commercial:
But even girls in Colorado don’t care- When they yawn,
When they stretch handily in their taught yard
The tickle the simple vertebrae of airplanes
And make stewardesses dream too of boys with
No name.