This Alma Mater Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Stored here the lazy emporium of her
Salt, moves slowly undulating like waves
Of a discombobulated bathtub:
Inside the college town of new remnants
Where the cats are the cleanest thing,
Where even the professors are dirty and candy
Tongues twisted up in adulterous philologies
For splits of punk girls with pink Mohawks
Still sucking on the tit of her iconographic parents,
The streamline cows in the suburban stockyards:
How, look, sure joy, how the traffic flows
In and out, each car like a necessary cell bubbling,
Air-conditioned and narcissistic:
Somewhere in the chicken wire and warbled slums,
She lives like a busty diamond,
She lives like a thoughtless reincarnation,
Each day a record put to the needle and spun:
The beautiful pricks who come out erect and blushing,
Popping steaming plums on their thumbs,
And she goes around ready to split apples with her tongue,
Around and around this, some kind of garden,
Full of galloping horses on tasseled poles,
Monkeys on leashes, organ grinders, and the spices
Of after dinner sex, the stolen guitars imparted to guests,
And ceaseless processions of inebriate friends, for
Their while they drive and pollinate the musky grottos,
The chicken shacks, the bowling alleys,
And the wharfs of the regal Hassidim: Slowly, slowly,
She spins to a conclusion, dizzy with horniness and a new
Pet, while about her the sagging monoliths protrude,
And the beer cans pollinate like the forest’s tap,
The aluminum stones making a trail all the way to her
House in the woods, and voices sing-song drunkenly,
Though in the morning it will take a few seconds for
The sun to intrude, and for her to remember where she lives.