The Very, Very Best Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Lesser names are mine of joy:
That I have been writing all of my life for one single
Boy out
Huddling nakedly amidst the sugar cane rattling his brain for
The rains of airplanes,
And Alma, I think of you, while lesser visions come into view,
While every night and every day proceeds,
Upon the long legged hallucinations of another long winded steed:
And I caught a forty pound king fish
The other night and watched its dying breathes on the floor of the boat
Underneath the carpet of airplanes, while didn’t you
Clean your house:
Didn’t you: and you, as a Mexican wife, cooked dinner for you husband,
While the rainbows disbanded and I wished again
That I could take my own life, while the lions yawned insouciantly,
While in their cherry mouths your missing rabbits fawned and didn’t think of you,
While nothing was new under the sun: and my love was just the drinking
Fountain of a famished pop-gun,
But otherwise I receded with it again into the west;
But as I receded with it I wished you, Alma, the very, very best.