Silver Fireworks Of Another Man's Holidays Poem by Robert Rorabeck

All the way down during the day,
Down the steps to the sea- to feed bread crumbs to
Mermaids,
To proposition the virgins in the grottos that you- Alma,
Should think of me,
Sweating like the confections of an opulent daydream,
Into a house with my dog too small for you to
Have, and shrinking all of the time,
Diminishing into a dwarf as if by an evil, lascivious spell,
Finding it hard to get into my truck,
Drinking liquor near the torpid and opened lips of the
Canal- wading into the fetid presumptions
That collection like in the murkiness of a questionable
Wishing well:
That I have lost my way, over spilling my words, and commingling
With liquor even though I have to get up after midnight to
Work into the afternoon-
While you arise from another bed, silver fireworks of
Another man’s holidays licking through your beautiful hair.