Burning in the cold spittoons, the mountains rise <br />Up to the f%cking moons, and I have been betrayed again: <br />The mailman has fathered my earliest sun while <br />I was late to home again: The rabbit went down on his fairy, <br />The little girl has shrunken again; <br />And my words are just the whimpering of my loneliness after <br />My tireless wife has hit the town again: If she were my wife, <br />And not another man’s worry: <br />I want this to be the story that I am remembered for: <br />I want to be an American legend, and I am in a hurry: <br />And the night spills out semiprecious from its quarry: and the <br />Planet Mercury is even nearer to my love: <br />And I haven’t worn a bathing suit in so long, and the girl I loved <br />Has a husband; and I have never betted on dogs, though I think <br />That I should have: <br />And the knights have gone down into the traffic, empty handed <br />From the mountain, and if my goddess was nearer toward me, <br />Wouldn’t she just love another more endearing man: <br />And what about the apple trees uphill from my uncle’s house in <br />Michigan: what about that professor who is the head of his department: <br />I think he was the one who started all of this: <br />I think his backyard is the garden of Eden, and I am doing nothing: <br />I am just a runaway: a runaway from the sunniest states in the union, <br />And the girl in the movie, the girl I love, well, actually <br />I have never been beautiful enough to have had anything to do with <br />Her.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-do-with-her/
