My Bed Is As Empty As A Glass Poem by Robert Rorabeck

My air-condition really works and make me feel as if
I am on sabbatical;
And I am glad that Trulio told you that I was once a teacher,
Which is so,
But I have always been a singer of these words,
Under the eves of high school, whistling with all of the drunken birds:
And my scars seem to never mind you, Alma,
While my body seems so quick and so large:
I held your little wrist spindling your little fingers today,
But you were the one who was in charge:
And I wish I knew every last dropp of Spanish for you, Alma,
For I am sure that I am in love:
Even if you say that I need a new car, I am better left unproved,
The way the green fields look un hoofed by the athletes and their silly
Bags:
Tonight is my night for you, Alma, and all of the world is stilled:
Even the sea doesn’t move, and the sky is just something fantastical;
It cannot be proven; and you are the keynote of this symphony;
It oscillates back and forth against your being-
And you do not need a breast job, and everything I speak is a reason on
For you,
And my bed is as empty as a glass begging you, Alma, to be filled.