The Teeth Of A Matador Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Maybe they loved each other because they all seemed
Beautiful and so they went together to festivals near the coral lips of
The sea;
And I did not know who performed there, because I was too busy
Singing in my sleep;
But maybe it was because I was not so beautiful, or that I frightened
Them in other ways,
That I was not invited, and I lost all of my friends as white as the
Summertime snow,
But found new lovers in the hibiscus and roses of baseball diamonds,
Blushing with no profession,
And hardly any clothes: They all loved the Virgin of Guadalupe,
And Romero even stopped drinking for three years when, kneeling
Beneath her imagine, she told him that he could,
And now my house is warmed from all of this Spanish liquor,
Something to keep the sailors alive instead of going down
Into the cold blue fires;
And I have it right here, the kindling of my words- Even if I will
Never have my muse of muses,
While the other lights seem to know my names, it doesn’t seem to
Matter at all if everyone from that ever greened high school,
Like friends whistling together like candles in the boughs,
Should remember me;
I have met my own soul as red as the daylight that cuts birthdays across
The prows of fearless ships, and she is like a rose bared
Between the teeth of a matador:
Even if she doesn’t love me, she knows my name.