Fireworks Poem by Robert Rorabeck

No more baseball playing without
Those witches,
New or old, floating: they are my muses;
And the high school sings with
Glasses of pain,
And the windows open and share eyes
With the rain;
If this is not a song, Erin- Then what for
Are its poses;
If this is not a song, Erin- then why for
Did I buy you roses;
Because I am not a he-man,
And you can never open up to me;
How many strong men have you been with,
Leaping forth across this
Country,
The America, Erin; and my body is not so
Beautiful,
But tired and lagging from the races,
Unqualified to meet you in the middle of wildflowers
In the higher basins
Where the windmills of maddened soldiers beat out
The clouds,
Where I have perceived you underfoot of the breathless
Continents,
Where I suppose I am not proud to be,
Erin- Erin, I sell fireworks, so why cant you fall
In love with me.