If You Liked That Sort Of Thing Poem by Robert Rorabeck

With this face I like to pretend
To be an old man with this glass- A nearly
Perfect old man, with this glass
And with his bag of fireworks near the sea:
Won’t you just sit out and wait and see,
What I could do;
And I’ve never spoken of this before,
And I am so proud and hung over, while I
Admit that there are better things for you to do:
Luckily you are doing them,
Meeting people I would never meet,
Making love out in the sidewalks of the Catholic
Church I can remember positioned quite blue and still
Across from that great secular university;
But I won’t go to school anymore,
And you know that, but when I did go to school,
It was very difficult to look myself in the eye
In any bathroom mirror- I always looked so awful,
But not quite as awful as I look now,
Revealing myself to you, meaning to do anything to
Draw your attention to me in my lonely house,
Like an old widower under the despotic sun,
Even while the waves are crashing and the traffic is going
Around, calling in the girls like feeding birds in a pine
Forest, flaunting to the short skirts in roller skates,
Meaning that I have dictated this evening my sour candy
From my ineffective bag of tricks,
Hoping that it would captivate you like a poison apple,
Desiring your endearing dishonestly, suspecting that you
Were willing again to make love, if you liked that sort of thing.