Only Myself Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I wish I could sing for you:
I wish I could step right out over the warm cinderblocks
And bare my ass,
Cracking jokes with the trumpet of that baboon;
Sparking the unicorns in the sky,
And making your house fibrillated like the machines working
Intensively on a patient,
And making your eyes ignited into the oils of that day,
The pastels who bleed away their pictures on the sidewalk in
The rain;
Even now aren’t you making love to your husband, your best
Friend,
All gussied up: What animals are listening? I can only imagine.
How my tongue is rusting, like a luckless door,
Mute stopped in time
Waiting for the bus of your charms:
You lean outside the windows or the transoms, you know,
While your kids are laughing:
Look at those verbs:
And you are rose but when I close my eyes you are a lion sauntering
Towards me as I step out of my car with that Tuesday’s
Offerings of orchids;
And you know and can spell your name;
And you can take me at any time: I have only myself to blame.