The Body Of Your Grandfather's Guitar Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I want to take you to Spain,
And defeat Franco with your machine gun legs.
This light is so warm and not at all
Bellicose,
And yet it is almost too early to think of Christmas,
And it is really something that I spent time with
You in Disney World,
And almost got lost from you,
And we rode the tram together, but you hardly looked
Me in the eyes;
And we didn’t go home together,
And, of course, this is the wound: it is leaking,
It is like a wind tunnel is Spain,
And I would like to have you tremulous as a naked
Olive tree atop the ruby hill where
That lustrous poet is buried,
And yet I lost you,
Like a body loses its soul,
And now you live and milk another man’s child,
And I am homeless and forced into prostitution with
Alligators and water moccasins;
Yet, I remember and miss you,
You who knew how to play pinball better than all the rest,
And how you rounded the curves
With the body of your grandfather’s guitar.