Semiprecious Wounds Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In the houses reaped by themselves:
They flee the Mexicans- lost and lonely boys who are
My friends
Who have no table manners- only innuendos and excuses
For getting up
And acting like dogs: while full across the sea the silver
Challises glimmer:
And, well, if there is anything good- why then there
Are dolphins and words for spelling her
Swimming nude across the sway:
And even as this dies- or slowly corrodes abandoned like a
Chassis underneath the pines-
Even as the cenotaphs emote to sand lions far removed into
The unrevolving courts never shown to any man
Who was anything more than a cannibal:
I recite this to you again, while the day and the night take off
Their clothes and make a game of it- as their holidays
Of rattlesnakes
Or stewardesses lick their pilot’s semiprecious wounds,
And are either flying away or touching down again.