Never Home Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Oh, the days are poor with only family-
Hermaphrodites to my scars, can anyone see me:
But Diana says I am beautiful:
She is the best looking woman I have seen in fifteen years-
While my doggies die, I jack off to her,
And the city leaves; it takes up its pittance of roots and leaves,
Shoots off just like rockets into the skies,
But who gives a rabbit’s sh%t for all of those Russians;
Tremulous in the quietly insipid orange groves of Spain,
Girls I have loved I will never see again-
Set off castaways to state college and further into their
Oort Clouds, their propitious, unsolicited after-lives-
I don’t know what I am doing;
After the ululations of the arcades of nothing, a plane shot
Down, something quaintly commercial, and I am going down
In the comfortable armchair of an amusement park,
Cotton Candy, gold fish- I forgot how to have fun,
And the fair is leaving before I could even be born,
Even while there are still some girls who still wish they could
Love me if only if I were beautiful,
As beautiful as Colorado, or the planes higher up,
Where the angels end their play well sated, mopping sweat like
Pearly sororities off their brows,
Going home, being tucked into a bucket of chummed wings;
And now you are with child, and now you are utterly alone,
While the amusements croak, while the amusements
Groan:
I am the only one who loves you, who has ever loved you;
And you have always loved me-
I have rung your bell, but you are never home.