She Is Mickey Mouse - Poem by Robert Rorabeck
Look at them driving around now,
No fun in love-
With nobody else; They have their rings,
And their occupations,
Their spit and their clean
Pomade and amble freckled fleshed-
Hyphened last names,
The night is dark in heaven:
They got a little alcove for sex and tortoise f! ck,
But they don’t got what I tell them what I got/
How I feel!
They don’t got what I feel, doc!
Let them in so they can see me rock n’ roll,
Alone on the infant atoll....
Let them smash the expensive glass
Down in Boca Raton;
Inside the Chuppah
Let them mull over that bone;
If they knew Spanish, they’d know their
High society was dressing nice
In the mouth of the sewer rat-
Funk! Junk! Cocaine crank:
All she needs is a little spank of lonely love:
My name broke from hers like a kite in a hurricane;
Now she is the domesticated kine taking it in the mouth:
She is Mickey Mouse
Scurrying in the house of a lesser king-
She is the tail end cartoon burned in the reams
For the rest of her life;
But you cannot even see me.
You are already blind, and I am living on the invisible
Island of snowbirds, mobile homes and citrus;
The place her cheating commercialism will never touch;
Brushed by the sonorous opera of the tattooed breast:
The blue-bird on her tit sings my name
Like a mighty m^ther-f*cking migration,
Of French-kissing which never looks back.
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