Shouldn'T We Be Going Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Kiss or touch this beautifully crooked boy,
Or become a seagull,
But give yourself to my salient desperations:
Open your lips to me like the flower of a
Department store. If I am finite,
If my body is scarred and finite,
What part of me reaches out through the yards
Of weather fronts,
Curls in ways I would never know to whisper
Over your sweet shoulder,
To feel its tendrils underneath your delicate
Straps, and says with its few lines,
That out of all the boys, gray headed, I am still
The best one; and if I’ve struck out, I
Am still waiting for you in the red earth,
Or underneath the bleachers of some sad high school,
Waiting for you to come out. Now that all
The cars are gone, knowing that you cannot drive alone,
I have hidden a bottle for us in place down
Desperately near the sea; and now that you have
Come, somehow, shouldn’t we be going?