Cleopatra Of The Atlantic Basin Poem by Robert Rorabeck

There are cabarets in South
Florida,
In West Palm Beach up and
Down Military Trail,
Entertainment for the army-
Girls in high-heeled parade with pink
Fingernails that smell like
Industrial glue,
Dead horses and dollar store
Glitter sprinkled in tatters
Above their eyes-
They go around tables with
Love handles, overweight Barbies
Picked out by strangers from the gutter—
Like naked panhandlers
They are working….
There are cabarets in South
Florida
And dark corners where
You can pay, but walk
To the East
And you will find the sea
Spread out the wreathing bed
Pearlescent in the seducing moonlight—
She will let you swim all night
Through her salt—
Her waves undulate like terrific steeds
Rearing along her inner thighs,
Her breath, the wind moans,
Motivates the passion’s tide—
She will take you in and
Play with you as the moon’s pull heaves
The waves of her bosom over you….
She will never tire nor lose interest
And when you are finished,
You can lie against her
Shore as the sun rises,
Smoke a cigarette and
Get a tan all day long
While she caresses your fingers
With her tongue;
She will never stop-
There are cabarets in South
Florida,
But just offshore to the East
Is where She lies,
Unashamedly bared,
In perpetual motion, going nowhere,
Over-spilling from her dress
As the traffic goes by like metal fish,
Glinting on her flirtatious eyes,
Cleopatra of the Atlantic Basin.