Ghost Freshly Mowed From Her Grave Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I get drunk and get sallow, puppy dog eyes:
I get flag poles of creamy surprise-
When I get drunk,
I just want to look into your eyes; or,
I get drunk and drive in round about ways,
In juvenile merry-go-rounds to your seas:
I lay out and spool, homeless, skipping school:
I listen straight up through the palm trees,
And try to hear you like the far away purring of
Commercial airplanes,
Something beautiful and yet popping, yet blooming
Out of her graves-
I sit and close my eyes and blister for days,
And the traffic trundles, and the tide sways,
And the tourists go on forever through their sunnier
And more insouciant farces;
And if I could but live in your sweet town, I’d be
Happy just stocking the shelves,
To watch you, a wife in her wedding gown,
A ghost freshly mowed from her grave.