Death Is Insatiable With His Spoiled Blue Eyes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I wanted to be true to you,
But death took me up in his spoiled blue eyes
And I had to watch, bivouacked,
As your husband put on a corset for you and
You came home-
And I have climbed four mountains in one day with
A feather in my cap,
And I have called my dogs my masters, and become
A better man for it;
And I have eaten an apple- And I too am libertarian,
And not a dirty hippy;
Yet I can appreciate a tattered red white and blue
Underneath the look out tower stashed away by
Some overweight cowboys:
And every citizen should have his guns,
But it does no good. I eat apples and look into the
Skies, but it does no good- I am only slightly above
Average intelligence,
And I am still waiting for the pizza to arrive,
For the literary agent to return with a positive reply,
But it does no good: and what about you,
All the men you’ve flipped,
All the séances you’ve conquered- it really does no
Good- Let the terrible infant suckle there at your hip,
Let the paper airplanes fly:
Death is looking in your window; he has already eaten me,
But he is insatiable with his spoiled blue eyes.