Further Away Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I am in the right place for another glass,
And perhaps I will never write another poem tonight,
As today I have to explain to Antonio that there is no more
Work right now, for the horses are hungry
And eating up all the money garnered from our patriotism;
And soon it will all be gone, and they will still be hungry
And young and growing,
And the liquor in their legs spent in the egotisms of the racetrack
And the little men atop them like unified Napoleons,
And I will still not know her number, or the saccharine rhyme of
Her heart;
For I would like to take her to the zoo,
And notify her to each of the carnivores’ appetites,
And run against her like the bachelor otter in the falsified
Eddies of his plastered architecture,
The way higher mammals purr, and tell her now that this
Is how it should be, if she could remember,
The food I feed to her, the milk like fine liquor I take from her
Breast as I steal from our children-
But she is just the rhythmical fantasy stolen by the Indians
And taught their languages and the mathematics
Of their casinos-
And I should have been in Japan by now and laid,
And talking in different languages: In a year a father in conjoined
Decade a grandfather enjoying Disneyworld with the newly
Spent and bewildered eyes of its doey offspring;
Instead, I let the yellow b*itch in by the static door of my
Falsifying basement, offer another toast to Whitman and his
Genius linesman, and tell her now that she should not read me,
For this is the weather of a new holocaust, and all hope is spent
Just getting up to the teller, and even though her breasts are immaculate
So that she should be named Mary and feed entire queuing of
Third world countries; it is still not enough to justify another
Inebriation, or another night without her,
Whoever she is trying to me- I give her this as if I throw
An infant love letter out of my moving vehicle, and now
That it is screaming there can be nothing more,
Nor shall I revisit this utterly disjoined psalm, another poetry
Conceived on my rum- For her eyes are beautiful though
Far away,
And though tomorrow I may live close to her again.
I could never be further away....