Really Is A Shame Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Pushing the cerulean fugue
There you go now-
Starting out down hill with all
Your friends,
Not letting me get a second chance
To get tongue tied by how
Your indescribable eyes quench on
Sunlight
Until they are like inebriate twin
Sparrows
And swinging insouciantly over
The many legged hills
Of aerodynamic traffic,
Leaving me in their cartoonish dust,
The consumption of your
Windmills and ceiling fans,
Spots of blood like
Silly flowers in my cheeks-
You were even too lazy to
Use your legs to move away,
Which really would have been
Something to see;
And it really is a shame.