Basking In The Heartless Urbane Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Monsoon season,
So when comes the rain:
The forest is dying,
Its lost its brain: and 13 people
Read my poems today,
But they didn’t say anything-
They just shrugged and showed me that
They their pockets were empty;
And they went right into the bookstore,
Weeping,
Because I told them that you were serving
Drinks right next door; and you were naked
And beautiful, and Catholic;
And they believed me- They said,
They would have tipped me for the experience,
But I didn’t believe them;
And I parked where I wasn’t supposed to,
And I had a fight after school,
But no one was hurt, because we both left off early
And made love on the swings- I swore
Afterwards never to get into a fight with a girly,
Especially my cousin,
Because her lips were beautiful, even though she was
My cousin, or my second cousin-
And I am not good at baseball, and mathematics don’t
Mean a thing,
And I have to bike home early, because its supposed to
Rain;
And I want to be Vachel Lindsay- I want to know what
Its like to kiss Sarah Teasdale, to hang out around her
Cemetery smoking cigarettes, basking in the heartless urbane;
And I want to be Rupert Brooke; I want to be
Arthur Rimbaud, but I still have both my legs;
And I have to get home early, because its supposed to rain,
But so far she holding out for a man with better promises,
And I haven’t read a thing.