I get drunk and get sallow, puppy dog eyes: <br />I get flag poles of creamy surprise- <br />When I get drunk, <br />I just want to look into your eyes; or, <br />I get drunk and drive in round about ways, <br />In juvenile merry-go-rounds to your seas: <br />I lay out and spool, homeless, skipping school: <br />I listen straight up through the palm trees, <br />And try to hear you like the far away purring of <br />Commercial airplanes, <br />Something beautiful and yet popping, yet blooming <br />Out of her graves- <br />I sit and close my eyes and blister for days, <br />And the traffic trundles, and the tide sways, <br />And the tourists go on forever through their sunnier <br />And more insouciant farces; <br />And if I could but live in your sweet town, I’d be <br />Happy just stocking the shelves, <br />To watch you, a wife in her wedding gown, <br />A ghost freshly mowed from her grave.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ghost-freshly-mowed-from-her-grave/
