In The Orchards Of The Highways Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In the orchards off the highways near the burned
Out fires of your dirty honeymoon-
I do not care if you cannot look into my eyes, or
Read these things I have to say to you:
Arounding in my bachelorhood, I enjoy the fecund
Night with my booze, while your shoulders
Of amber linger on the swings, and in the waves
That I pushed and enjoyed with you- both of
Us inept and not wondering what we were around:
Both of us making love like birds above the ground.
Until you went away burning back to your
Family’s cathedral to make a meal for your husband.
I agree, it was extremely awful, as you lay
All wrinkled and loosed skinned wondering what’s
For dinner back at home again.