So Many Bouquets Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Trying to change and drinking liquor
Until there is a kindergarten and the dogs don’t
Have to come out
And I have a book published at Harvard,
But I am still drinking the albino
Rum from Haiti,
And trying to fill in my coloring book of a
Fabulous mouth,
Hoping to never mind the famishing venomous
Mouth pieces of the little children of Satan
Who surround me,
Even while the high steps of Bellefontaine Cemetery
Are unevenly if forever crowded,
And this is a new cloud to cross the sunshine:
A new reason to outstand the vanishing carports
Of the rodeo that was supposed to
Culminate before the fire of the beehives: my art
Through the rain soaked cul-de-sacs of something else
The establishment will never stand for:
That I love you: that I love you, but in my hand
My fingers can only hold so many bouquets.