In The Medians Of Interstates Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Lost into the presupposition of the glass—
Knowing only so many words
And those discovered at the racetrack of her legs—
And what a chariot—
Alighted with the things I saw—turning on its
Blinkers as it swung around the garden—
The bears full of special lighthouses
Now that they held torches and dined together
In the medians of interstates,
Moving further and further south—
Competing with the tourists with cartoon souls—
The brass of their elbows echoing
As the butterflies knocked over the swing sets
Hurry to follow their lovers into the sea