The Voices To Which You Pretended To Weep - Poem by Robert Rorabeck
You kissed my neck,
And it felt so good; and it was all I wanted
Erin: You were all I wanted,
To fall asleep underneath the zoetropes of your window,
When I get too drunk, I still call your old number
Which I know by heart,
But you changed it with the luck of your infinity,
When you showed your one and only man
The open mollusk of my infinity;
And I died in the palm of your laughing hand,
Erin, so how can you blame me,
Erin- I cast myself in your fire, Erin;
And I am just a good man, Erin- no good at soccer
Or any sport.
I just want to run on like a faithful dog at your side,
Don’t you understand,
I just wanted to be your one good man.
Erin- I’ve always been the man who was left behind,
And you just added to the fact in your insouciant weathers,
Taking you dates on horseback,
Frolicking through the heathers. Now I’ve misspelled you
Erin, and your eyes are still auburn and floating on the currents
Of your chesty abodes.
Erin- I am so lonely, and you made me that way.
You abetted in my careworn fraternity,
And now I cannot love a woman again faithfully,
And what happened to all the flowers I sent you;
And where will you be buried, Erin:
Beside what man will you be buried, while I still fly my flags
Underneath the soft bellies of airplanes, while you laugh right
Into my face and watch your bench-pressing cartoons.
Why couldn’t you care to love the dreams
I planted for you, Erin-
Why couldn’t you lay down and close your eyes
For me in the garden I created for you under these lights,
Instead of casting me further a field
And there to grow even stranger towards the voices
To which you pretended to weep.
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