Scars Grow Richer For You Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Scars stay open when you drink,
Think of her legs- the things you could have
Said to them;
Scars grow like roses underneath the
Sink- they grow real scars,
Deepening their radii, richer areola,
Like breasts fattened by milk,
Is what I think;

And in a decade I’ll know what to say,
And the trees will come in beneath the sky
Where I’ve been practicing my kisses,
The gardening of the glass,
All the housewives on second honey-moon
Cruises,
Or out shopping underneath the rain:
I watch them go by in the rich nostalgia of
Their sororities,
And wonder if by happenstance that is how
They’ll line out when they die,

Each pecker-wood have its own tomb
Affluent and marble out in the quarter acre yard
I could sleep in seasonally, drinking while
Scars grow richer for you.