Yeah, Whatever Poem by Robert Rorabeck

People forget themselves in the dark:
The stars are smoking,
They will soon be run-
People forget themselves,
And mountains are unforgiving but
Beautiful-
I never made it to prom:
I ran out of time,
But here breasts are still magnanimous-
The angelic flesh of mermaids is paradoxically
Without legs-
I think I could make a living selling ice-cream
At the Castillo de San Marcos-
I haven’t enough to buy the rest of the sentence,
My legs are cold,
They are out of rum,
But will soon lie down like lambs before the mouth
Of the video-game- I.e.
There is a pool where I’ll dropp out in:
I’ll spend my cash,
I’ll smoke my last dime,
The sea is pitifully beautiful,
And my ex-lover wrote me to say that she is sorry
To see the face of my last story,
And this poem is drunken and without rhyme,
But I still love her,
And somewhere deep in the heart of suburbia the lights
Are still glowing over the names of places
Where faithful people still live,
Suckling, eating their corn-flakes,
Believing in celebrities,
At least until the world burns,
Her car leaves the cul-de-sac, and God returns,
Fists up, a pugilist whose heart palpitates
In the middle of Africa,
Trying to disbelieve what he’s done, how he’s
Made us,
Until I knock him out, and collect,
My just reward.