First Star Of Morning Poem by Robert Rorabeck

My parents live on the precipice....

My ears are ringing like maudlin wind-chimes,
From the last of the rum,

There are flesh-eating horses out in the hoary yard,
Devouring verbatim my father’s estranged love,

The same sort of love I give for you,
Until they turn off the lights and tell us,
“Now that is enough. Each of you go back to your
Sea, ”

And there are wayward Mexicans living in our
Front lawn,
A man and wife, and his father,
Jesus and Antonio, mi primos-
Do they know that they are eating him too?

Last 4th of July,
Finished on Route 66, in Moriarty, NM,
The famous nemesis, I gave myself this strawberry
On the side of my face,

And called you twice-
A man answered whom I didn’t know,
But we still made bank in the desert of empty snow-
Now it comes around again,

And you still do not love me,
And I still do not know what to do,
For I am not pretty. Just so, I am lost, but if you
Should find me,

Then there is a house for you, my fingers, my tears,
My soul, and all the saccharine cadences my body wishes to
Swap with your body,

And this is another pitiful attempt to call up your eyes,
Wayward and nameless on their stool in the empty bar;
Warm exchanges, I promise, and luckless fidelity,

For soon I am homeless, and I ask you if
You could be my first star of morning.