Drowning Home Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Wherever you are you can make
A go of it,
If you ask your government or mother for help;
And there’s cold beer if the fridge,
And warm waves they are saying her name outside
The cozy door;
And I can take you down this way,
So many steps, the flowers all pinpricks of white;
The poisonous envy of coral snakes which can do
No harm unless thoroughly pressed like perfume on
The palm;
They’ve shaped how the birds sing,
And all the professors are naming, drunk of the polyps
Of space they hear breathing through the screened lanai;
I want to say that there are so many passages
Into Mexico, the bereaved highways un sanctimonious,
Declassified going their way;
And would sure like to see you twice in one day
Out at some dog track or chicken coup, the places
Where foxes like you naturally cohabitate with the spaces
Of haranguing blue which match your eyes like a good
Suit for an interview for your wedding day:
But this all just a goof, not even good enough to feed my
Dog, though I saw such beautiful houses today in the
Quaint pandemonium of all that could be wrong;
And women who looked like you, who should have been you
Walking their dogs- should have been your dogs;
But I am just drinking Mexican beer, and trying out a new
Variance into the constant puzzle of my magical emasculation,
The bad science of my loneliness deserves another try
Even after the last inning has thrown, and all these f%cking
Tourists are drowning home.