The Aphrodisiacs Of New Cars Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Brief for awhile,
Crepescule hangs like
A Chinese lamp
Over where my father and I
Are standing things
For a Christmas nobody
Believes in-
And I sit underneath of
A candy store
Watching snow crystals while
A wino who
Has metamorphosed into
A terrapin from
Drinking too many thunderbirds
Gets his
Mouth wet around an
Orchid-
That he wishes was you-
But you have gone to college
Or somewhere-
Promiscuous pronoun in your
Daydream-
Enjoying the articulations of
The limbs we cannot
Enjoy-
Because we need haircuts
And do not believe in the
Aphrodisiacs of new cars.