The Jewelry The Moon Steals Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The moon a yellow Pygmalion—
A venereal marionette dancing over
The best part of the city
The most beautiful of
The boys has already abandoned—
I am getting drunk
In my little yellow living room:
A virgin of guadelupe still sits in the
Floor of the foyer,
Paper airplanes being sacrifices
To her—
Soon my mother will come home,
Since tomorrow is the baby shower,
But maybe I will be too drunk to open
The door;
But sometimes my own thoughts still
Get bright—
They become the jewelry the moon
Steals over the impenetrable bay,
As the waves dance with the dolphins
All with impure thoughts of her—
Like a goddess she will awaken tomorrow,
And the racecars will race for her
She won't even see.