To Buy Your Ghost Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Wherever you are living now
You always make me spend my art into the
Dirt
With a glass between my legs watching the
Dancers flirting
Under the cheery palm trees-
I can go out from under the wedding cemetery,
Go down underneath the fort beside the sea,
Listen to the tourists taking photographs
Of making love,
I can weep into the foamy summit of
Every wave,
But I know you are not here, but sleeping in the
Stores of beautiful mountains-
I should result in nothing as I try to recognize
Your essence,
But it is too elusive, made up of so many things;
I can only give you the few words that are my
Anonymous sport- They will end up dying long
Before my love;
I finish off half a bottle of rum in one night,
I look upon the underbellies of airplanes like slick
Amusement rides under the yard lights,
But the swing set is empty. The alligator has nothing
To do- We are both waiting to become
Better gentlemen, to find the true words of our
Sincerity; Perhaps we are both ancient fools,
For you are so away,
And I will never have the talent to make enough
Money to buy your ghost.