No Matter How Inappropriate Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I’ll call you the joy of blackbirds-
You won’t look at me at all-
You’ll say I drink too much-
I’ll listen to your echoes down toward the
Saturnine basins of your first marriage;
And I’ll sit and wait in the abandoned hallways between
Classes, green scars like broken glass,
Romero outside drinking his cheap beer- I’ve finished
My bottle of wine and am ready to banish my head as
Well,
But I have to get out these rhymes- might as well:
I still can barely stand looking at myself:
I am a lonely freak show- I sell pumpkins- I don’t
Smoke- I wait for you, still fishing in the Disney World
Of your first marriage: a girl came into today who
Might have been your sister- she asked me my name,
And didn’t mind how bad I looked:
She had two kids, maybe she was that desperate:
I am a good man- I am so lonely, but maybe that doesn’t mean
So much:
I finished off my bottle of wine; it cost me five dollars,
But maybe that is enough:
She looked just like you, except her hair was blonde- She had
Your same body: she had two children, but she could still
Play soccer- and right now better men are flying above me,
The sky sheriffs of this esplanade, going to their common ports
Maybe they could have you at any time, so tin star winged
Above my head:
I haven’t been on a date for seven years- but she said she was
Coming back for a Christmas tree- If she doesn’t
I don’t think I should hesitate to ask her to bed,
No matter how inappropriate.