Long As She Gets Paid Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Harem of chimps, this is what I do
With my extra chromosomes- I ignore trees,
I get envious of pretty girls,
I try to avoid my face: Most of all, I finish near
The bottom of my class,
So clichéd, I drool into the lower octaves of canals,
I vomit rum to feed minnows,
And diminutive mermaids, homeopathic romances
To which I don’t have to shave;
In the back of my mind, doing exactly what
I want to do- I climb mountains, I sniff the glue
Of wildflowers- I burn my fingers over the
Lightning stoked river through the pussywillows-
Of her pubis, through the grand engorge of her certain
Fits- the bucks, the rhymes of saddled hips,
The cries I remember like little children coming out into
Their mowed yards for the ice-cream truck;
After school, I like to swing, I like to f*ck-
Then I get lazy and watch Donald Duck, and the sky-
The sky is our neighbor and we hang tennis shoes by
Her power, and she watches a while, concerned,
Turns rosy from drink, is shared by hurricanes, but I don’t
Know what really else to say- After she is over with
Herself, goes down beneath the constellations I hate to
Describe- Powerless, I hide love poems underneath the
Shingles in the roof of a professional golf player-
I actually did this- and I’ve masturbated in a garage,
I’ve stolen a good thousand dollars worth of quarters to feed
To feel the plastic ululations between my childish thighs,
Sometimes she is blonde, and sometime she is colored-
Up and down her trails, she’ll be anything, but she doesn’t
Care so much for expensive bouquets, or romantic thundershowers
Lisping down across the corrugations of wildcat or
Thunderbird trailer parks- Near or far from the sea where
I pretend to catch her, as long as she gets paid.