On The Inside Of Town Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Encoded into a rich harem where
Nothing can last forever
I listen to country music and wait for your
Older sister to come out and sun
Beside the pool;
It smells like the chatter of propane and
Obnoxious lilies,
The black spattering of woodpeckers and
Porcupines
Mark your breasts while your eyes are closed
And the airplanes are circling like pugnacious buzzards:
The day of the dead is having his parade on the street,
The grateful and the ungrateful dead
Stealing your car and reneging on promises;
But you are already in love with a better man, perhaps an
Airplane pilot, the very one circling you,
Caracoling you like a ribbon unlaced from your gown:
The boys are watching you from underneath the pool,
Like truants in the bleachers;
But you never look up and you never look down,
At these ghosts painting your body on the inside of town.