Souvenirs Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Learning to taste the fiberglass of a reckless void,
Or that there is something beautiful in the sea
That really doesn’t belong to her, but
Just in the words of her high school that has blown
Long since away like so many masturbatory scripts:
That only the alligator remains,
Piecemeal but fully long in the tooth outside the cobalt
Bridal showers of carports that never have to leave:
Like the fidelity of youth that ripens all around its sorts
On into middle age and the contours awaiting a body
In death;
And homelessly, swaying like a de masted sail from the
Voyage of loquacious heroes,
She goes along, muse-like but untrustworthy
Fetching the boys and the dogs to her art, calling to the male
Figures all around who are craning their necks beneath her
To give off musk and gold wishes at this wonderful dream,
Like the ending of a movie above the trees;
And she languishes, nameless and quivering, with what is left
Of her delicate hand pressed to her forehead as she
Faints;
And gets stuck in the branches and as has to look for awhile at
The higher up dreams of airplanes, as we clamber up together
Like dishonorable firemen to kiss her lips as refreshment,
Or to pull her apart for souvenirs.