Playtime Amnesia Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Choose me for the bedroom of your play
And I will trim the fat and lackadaisical.
I will even stop entirely thinking of other girls,
Curled and crenulated on their other swing-sets,
In their other states give over to other sunsets,
In their sweet unadulterated time and nostalgic
Truancies:
Give me to the foreplay of your wound,
And I will stop believing in death: I will write
Screen plays of your mammalian garden, and grow
Folk-tales for you;
And with great cunning how to leap up and procure
Those lips of yours, like a stream of radiant custard:
I am not putting you on; I will become both less
Despotic and more responsible. I will even flirt with
Other girls to garner your attentions,
And I won’t have a need anymore for graveyards and their
Ashy roe:
Oh, I’ll love you coming forward on my bicycle and
I’ll do some tricks, all my silver spokes hypnotizing in
Siamese spiral: It may be true that there are better man for
You,
But for me you are the endearing apocryphal scripture,
And I am drunk again and laying low- gut shot and bleeding
Plasticine fighting men who all say your name in great argument;
And the tiny city shifts with the science of bleeding playthings;
And isn’t it a shame, that I am so abashed that, dying
Repeatedly like little boys and their make-believe suicide,
I can’t even once remember your name….