In The Kitchen Of Some Other Man's Because Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Held court,
But now I’ve got to go out, and footsy toe
With these thugs,
Zombie the supermarket shoplifting for rugs:
And it’s a dandy short day,
But sometimes it’s a might bit long,
And only the little girls are aloud to skip out
Harassing their fathers, ripping along
In such a blaze,
Pretending the horticulture is a violent theatre
Having them bemused-
They can call truancy and kidnap themselves,
Break out the boozey, manhandle themselves;
And I can like them for awhile,
I can cut them a rug,
I can sing with the crickets and pass them
My jug-
But eventually I’ve got to go to work,
Dress up a dandy, circle jerk- let the pornography cool
In the shadowy pools, in the oily, indigo pools
Of junked cars,
Say if she doesn’t call it is because she is so far
Away, getting to work for herself- And if she doesn’t
Know my name, never who I was,
Its only that she’s a lady now, not a little girl,
Chrysalis, bemused in the kitchen of some other man’s
Because.