The Things You Loved Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I click off the men you love,
While the coyote howls after a good meal,
And after having bitten the flea bitten nape of his
Mate’s starving neck,
Collapses beside the wreck of an exploded car
Down in the staunch valley heading most of the
Way to Phoenix-
He farts with the immaculate grandness of nary
A soul,
As two brothers get together and make love:
They don’t care nothing about the moon,
Its stages of wild romance, like a fat scuppernong on
A chain-link, and maybe you’ll come to
Realize this, and
That I am not so far away, but I don’t even think you can
Read,
And yet I go so far as to make fire dance in the sky,
And bring constellations more tighter together to look
Like our old school bus,
And the ways you’ve forgotten like the water fountains
Like the tobacco stained oasis along the bleached hallways of
The things you loved.