If We Were In Love Poem by Robert Rorabeck

So they called us out of the ballroom, and we
Necked in the tall grass while the lions tried to swallow
A harvest of satellites
Like children in a junkyard of cradles; or it was in
The green bottlenecks of cars,
Swimming away from school- and from the things we
Couldn’t say ourselves,
While cowboys rode the gods metamorphosed into
Bulls with strange names, and eyes like the confections of
Terrible disasters,
Where the most beautiful of virgins were kidnapped into;
So all of our lines read like bad science-fiction
Wrecked into the mirages of a graveyard of oasis’s;
The geniis flecked the ash out of their rolling studebakers
Down the streets where the blue bells still seemed to
Waver up into the green forts of vanishing mad men
Stocked full of fireworks,
And against them- each wave a madness, each a house of
A windmill; and the housewives held the hands of their
Tourists and thought that it all was special;
But the whores thought nothing of it at all, buried beneath the
Rose thorns, the esplanade turning like a blanket over
A dragon;
And we held hands and walked together through the denouement
Of another evening, but I could not tell if we were in love.