Holidays Of Interchangeable Heirlooms Poem by Robert Rorabeck

They are such good people they have no more liquor
In their souls,
And she has been cheating on him again in the early morning
Falseness of trailer parks and
Doused Catholic
churches:
And I’ve been busy touching myself again, croaking and
Combining primary colors like married couples:
And these are the trailer parks where you pretend to survive,
The super heroes are exhausted on park benches and
Sleeping underneath the old news of their accomplishments;
And I know you don’t need to be saved,
But I am doing it again, making a suicide of so many sodas,
While the ball parks are sold out on the green,
Green esplanade:
And your boys are just as blonde as you are, and I don’t
Think they will ever be growing tired:
Their bicycles are tireless as unicorns; and I don’t want to
Have to look at myself in the boy’s bathroom again:
I just want you metamorphosed and coming to me
Before all the games break down and I forget the better way home:
And all of this is just as suspicious as the semiprecious barbs
Of sting rays:
And I love many other days of holidays of interchangeable
Heirlooms I guess I shouldn’t suppose to have to say.