Just One Of Many Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Numbed in the chilly amphitheatre.
Baboons are beating the chests,
Ruining tulip corsages- my aunt’s wedding
Is all a mess, so I drove home early,
But the highway undressed and danced for me,
Cheeky, bosomed: I slipped a dollar in her
Curve and fell asleep.
Knocking, the black man woke me up and said
It was high time to move over-
I thought I wanted to be famous, but I was out
Of money,
But it didn’t matter because the air-plants were
Out and blushing in the crooks and armpits
Of each and every cypress.
The snails were white as apples, but with
Not so many words,
And I shouldn’t even mention the birds, the
Birds, the birds,
Over Jupiter’s dump, the humping of young and lordly
Lawyers
Who commissioned to have their picket fence painted
White by Tom Sawyer and oh so many confederate
Toy soldiers:
She makes love there, going down somewhere on that
Weepy and pester some peninsula,
And I’d thought of going back to her, drying my jaw
Out under the same sun; but school is over,
I’d loved a waitress over her through the slipping shadows
Of unkempt banyans; but isn’t that how it should be.
Stop. I’ll go to sleep now and have her sing to me
A song that doesn’t matter how it comes, because I’ve
Had my shots- I’ve buried my bones of which
She is just one of many.