The Sea Is Still The Woman I Love Poem by Robert Rorabeck

This is a strange song of your hypnotism
This is another candle's flame haunting another forgotten birthday—
And how the park echoes without your absence—
How I used to buy you breakfast before you had to
Start out for the produce market—
But you are married and bedded down near the horses
And I used to think that this was a beautiful western—
Something beautiful enough that I could sell it—
But you are not here, and I am sweating around my scars—
The same old men are glowing from their pores underneath
The overpasses—and the sea is still the woman that they love,
And the sea is still a whore.