Video-Game Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I like to hypothesize that you love me,
That I have the gift to connect with my leggy god
At a personal level;
But I am mad from cleaning hats in mercury,
Of jumping over the candle flames in a fable of
Golden mice who swim forever
Floating in the ancient Aegean sea, wherever that is:
I go all the way back to the old country,
The Spanish flocks kissing my ankles: I am beautiful
Back here in the corner of my room,
Sharon; and you have given up and moved on:
And you sell your wine like naked bottles flaunting before
The snow,
And the tourists come like confused snowbirds gaggling
In the languages of their ice-cream know-how;
And I get drunk every night and write poetry, because it
Is your destiny;
And I can love you best from her, from my positronic bedside.
I will never send you flowers are call you, because you
Just aren’t that kind of muse, but I will spend an hour or
Two a night writing poems for you,
Which added up equals more making love than I am afraid you
Have, because I have been practicing for you:
Sharon, aren’t you right now my Elizabeth Shue.
I want to leave Las Vegas for you, Sharon, but not anymore
Tonight. I am done putting the glue to the balsam wood
Joints of your model ship,
And now it’s time to neglect another pastime:
I want to try you out for real in my mind. I want to put a
Joystick in my hands and play a video-game.