For Her Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Cheeks stained with the tears of baseball
That somehow Alma cannot see:
I told her I have all of these scars in her car:
She laughed at me,
And she let me kiss her, and for awhile to hold her hand,
While all the other cars moved as if in a fraternity of
A band:
And the clouds did whatever they were doing:
She said that we could only be friends; that she must stop
Reading my poetry,
But then we made love, and we made love again:
The forest opened into the glades that sang for the affections of
Her eyes,
And when she drove away from me again, across the
Parking lot of the fruiteria, that was when I went back into
My own tomb and waited for her to call for me,
As some times she does:
She becomes a wetted mariposa when we are alone together,
Her brown skin prettier than anything I laid eyes upon in
Highschool;
And I just want to take pictures of her pretty feet and hands,
Juxtaposed with my working scars, and the dirt in my nails:
I want to show how she can become an airplane for any man
Who opens his eyes upon her,
Even though she will only take away so few,
Her promises as finicky as birthday candles; but she makes
Me glad that I had to suffer for so long,
And that my silent art is so pitiful if unabused, because now
It can all be for her- she can be my insufferable muse,
And the affluence of the world will never
Off color us at all,
And we will swing together without echoes; and if I still had
A shadow, it would only be for her.