Scarred in all too little ways- waiting for you <br />To come around, kicking balls, <br />Your jaw so well outlined in the pullulating rind of <br />Sun: <br />And I have cannon balls, and bathroom passes, <br />And reasons to believe that I am a straight shot of a <br />Conquistador, <br />Reason to believe that this last little bit might survive, <br />Even while the flamingos fart, <br />And I untie the expensive lace of another flirt, <br />And you don’t come, <br />And Disney World is such a trip- decapitated, flash- <br />Bulbed, waltzing now with the last of the senior <br />Class still flecking the promenade like the lazy shells of <br />All the palindromes and paladins: <br />I do this to check the rigging- To hear the whispers of <br />Xs of buried wealth, to pretend to stream out on an inflatable <br />Raft, to take my kindergarten and all its stolen goods out <br />Underneath some brightly pollinated flowers- <br />You know the ones, and show the poor boy the topless dwarf, <br />The stranded lady out beside the insignificant sea: <br />And all I am doing is just the runaway slop of several distant <br />Singers whose minds are not their own, <br />Who laugh and sway in a sauntering chorus to which I conduct <br />Them while their mother is out shopping, <br />And I am well and horny waiting for the return of anything <br />Feminine with shopping bags of hash and cheese, <br />While my beanstalk grows and grows, mostly unjustly <br />Unpublished, waiting for her to get on home.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/waiting-for-her-to-get-on-home/
