For Nowhere Again Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I get to leave for nowhere again. I am
Planning to take off for the show;
It is the best way, when you are rather the
Monster, or at least it is who you remind her of
She tells you on the other end of the phone,
Halfway to Spain
Too close to the air-conditioning unit to be understood
Or felt good about.
The truest light bulbs are naked and have been
Around so long they’ve never changed; there is
Something lucky about them turning just more
Amber above the heads of a succession of
Girls; perhaps they are the ancestry of a great show,
And they have loved their men.
You can even hear them here singing their bawdy
Limericks, kicking down the halls to the rowdy
Orchestra and its fraternity of men;
Hanging here, near the dust and different kinds of
Spiders, it is another attempt to think of her,
The one denoted by the mind of a whole filament
Another bereaved heart palpitating in a backroom
Without furniture, waiting her to return to change
Her clothes,
To smell her a little while around the hot glass,
And to see her from this vantage speaking of ambergris,
Powdering up and waiting for the clad elegant men to
Do to her as they certainly will.