To Booze Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Laid out my words sing like hollow instruments
From the lips of women that are passing
By:
They kick their eyes out of bed and beg the priest
Instead:
Like paper airplanes,
All my words fly for the length of several cars:
Newly buried, they kick like a fish one final time
Out into the open space of the fire,
But already the dirt of their store is closing down,
Better lovers are knotting fingers in the storm-
Erin is serving a private drink to some
Swell fraternity’s infernal dorm:
I know what color anchors are on those better men’s
Tattoos,
But tonight I’ll just let them all starve out in the open
Air under the moon.
Let sailboats be sailboats, and butterflies the ends to
Their own means.
Tonight I just want to booze.