The Valentines That Will Not Close Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Joviality in the display of open-hearted
Race horses,
I still go out underneath the moon
Where all of the palm trees
Lay planted—
And the night gets so soft and smooth:
I obtain no jealousy—
My muses who are already married
Make eye contact with my cousins—
The poisons become so soft that
They are almost unheard off—
And death is unhurried—
The beautiful menagerie of gossiping
Poisons takes his time—
Now he is caressing his skeleton to
The playgrounds of the beach—
It is his second or third lover,
Even before school is out-
And the moon languishes over
The bottle rockets of our truancies
Where I once got drunk and threw
Up in the wishing wells of a
Vanishing mall—
Where my reflection had so much
Acne that I thought that it couldn't
Possibly be me—
But now another daylight is dissolved,
And the girls I once loved
Have bedded down with their cars,
Underneath the mountains and
Underneath the moon—
Very soon they will have their own
Children, but for now there is nothing
More that can be spoken of—
Just the valleys beside the roadways,
The valentines that will not close until
What they have to sell have all but vanished.