Better Suited Romoes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Recitations are fed up, engorged on the conifered
Wilderness,
Heady from all its echoes, but what can one sing
To the ears of no one who loves it;
And I will drive my car and let its wheels perambulate
Caracoling the great stony heart of this country-
I will go down into the great Precambrian jungles and
Steal their folklores,
And get stabbed in the eye over false gossip,
If I have to, but I will never let off dreaming about
You; and this is all I mean: You are a feather in my cap
When I am such a consumptive dandy,
No good at mathematics or teaching the social classes
Anything- Everything I do is but to puff myself up
Next to the bouncers and he-men you enjoy-
I know, because you buy their cartoons: and soon you
Shall be married and baring children,
And looking fine all strung out and humid beneath the
Palmettos, and if I could I would conduct all those waves
To cry out for me, to censure everything about you that
Wasn’t concerned for my pity; and the air-condition is making
Me sick, and I bought a watch at the dollar store to keep time
About you, and I still look for you on campus, which
Is silly, because this is my new University and you are not
Here to serve me free beers, or to look anxiously beautiful
As you show your teeth, waiting for other romeos who
Shall enter that lacquered stage. Watch for them now, your
Barrel-chested Popeye’s,
Better suited romeos than I.