Sawhorse Of Hoodlums Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I like the work of minor saints,
Watch-makers:
Girls in high-school still look good to me,
Scorn me on the back lot
The patio the screened lanai:
I am doing this to get a gig- We can go
To mass and pray as it rains,
Listen to priests and pitter pats,
Then foreplay to science-fiction afterwards
Alongside girls we’ll innocently influence
Who will later on become philosophers of
Ornithographs- Those funny birds with wings
Of numbers: Then she washed out like a crocodile
On the verge of tears;
I gifted trams for her, and satellites of ice and
Hiking: And I have been saving money,
A licking my lips in the anticipation of the next line,
But it shouldn’t be dedicated to anyone famous,
To the great assassins of hokum presidents:
I rarely eat clams except in your presence,
But I mostly love to fail and walk with lesbians down
The effortless corridors of Palm Beach after midnight,
Making Donald Trump’s security draw their side
Arms very close to where I used to skip school and
Smoke free weed with the goof troop: beauty marked
Boys who were mostly Jewish or half Asian-
Took my girlfriend there and made love on the sea-
Softened terrace-
And wanted to feed the tortoises I took as balance for
My sawhorse of hoodlums: Loved them so much
I wanted to feed them orchids,
But could only afford poisonous rubrum, and there is
No advantage in the gestures of the sick: skip school
Fleeting like jacks over burning wicks:
I can see us now leaping over the crenulations on the
Green, two sporting boys galloping halfway through the
Day to a home of ululating video games with
Nothing in between.