Unreal Surrenders Poem by Robert Rorabeck

How sad again that I can’t even remember college,
What I was doing, and with which body with;
And later on she was sad when she found out all along that
She’d been doing it with me,
Somebody out of a halfway talented fairy-tale,
So while I was previously engaged in Colorado sounding out
The pewter sun-dogs of a more glorious muse along
The lines of skree,
She turned tricks with a freshman, which turned her away from
Me:
Eventually she was married in a kipa, and I once again
Started writing my inglorious poetry:
The stuff you find weeping in the backs of the throats of stores,
Kittens floating for the last time in the canals out back of doors;
And Erin is a singular muse,
And Erin the flame burning swiftly at the end of its fuse:
And I am filled with scars and little things-
When I go to the movies I see nothing but pains;
And I sleep under the dress of clouds. Looking up,
A Victorian desert with all the sad shapes of evaporated sounds;
And this day is no good, my parents are no good,
And Erin has forgotten about or congratulated herself over all the
Forlorn bouquets I had sent her;
She is becoming a fan of the more talented Shakespeare’s,
Laughing and beaming themselves away into the casual darkness;
And what is she doing out front of a house with a cutthroat
Mailbox;
And what is she doing now, just a shapely silhouette serving
Liquor, becoming just amber into crepuscule;
And what is Erin doing, serving her beautifully talent less body
To the anonymously talent less men,
While my lions are roaring all the time, hungry,
And forcing the red throats of such flowers to open up
In beautiful, and unreal surrenders.