On A Windy Day Down The Mainstreet Of Saint Augustine Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Songbirds open with jasmine song,
And I don’t have to do anything else today
But lay on my back and open my eyes;
When I’m not feeling lazy, I drink milk and
Patrol the yard- The farthest I go is across the canal
Where there are naked pictures strewn out in a
Zoological collage matting the fermented embankment
- Women in leggy orbit and
Fetching polyester: Busty prom queens of science-fiction that look
Good going down behind the cypress;
They give silver tensiled winks and rosemary nods in the lazy
Ways and estuaries where he, crowned, persuades her down to bed.
The red shoots as tongues from the armpits of cypress
Their roots suckling the pickled heads of silver-scarred
Conquistadors.
I don’t know either of them, and I leave before they
Start making noise, moaning like a captain of an evil ship
With a bad toothache;
I go back to my own home which I bought years ago
When I was thirteen. The vermillion carpet is mottled from my
Fretful masturbations and delinquent pets- Though the
Windows peep-show azure, they always do, and creased airplanes
Lay strewn about, the immature origami across my velveteen
Wasteland of emerald love letters that don’t even make it out
The front door. After I am done and breathless, my tongue
Hung up on all the pretty names of pretty girls I don’t know,
I fall down to eyelevel and wave at Lilliputian stewardesses
Smooching from the portcullises cut out like snowflakes;
I wave to them and they kick off their heals when the talk-shows
Come on the same time as the cicadas;
We stay up all night like old girlfriends and I toss them popcorn,
And they are so small and pretty that one kernel is like a
Decadent meal, and their breasts rise up gratefully and swell like
Pink balloons tugged by kindergarteners watching a parade
On a windy day down the
Main street of Saint Augustine.