If I came to you now, wouldn’t you stand without <br />A dropp of sympathy: <br />You might even laugh outwardly at my scars, <br />And that would be okay as long as you served <br />Me beer. <br />Rimbaud was laughed at too, and he lost his leg; <br />And you could get your bluer boys with anchors on <br />Their biceps to rough me up a bit, <br />And then swing lippy into you to show me how it <br />Is done, if I was brave enough to drink from <br />Your venal crèche; but my body is constructed for <br />Hard labor, <br />So it might surprise you that after I knocked their <br />Lights out and dragged you past the cheery <br />Buildings of your favorite University, thrashing up <br />All the not so wild flowers along the way <br />As another useless gift of suffocating beauty, <br />I would keep my balance and stamina, and it would <br />Only hurt a little, coming up out of the sea <br />And losing your breath, and saying such names <br />That I suppose, after awhile, we might name our children.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/come-sail-away/
