Some Wistful Amnesia Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Lets break into houses and make love-
Lets make fun of the teachers on their way into school-
Lets wake up early and play baseball in the dying
Park as the cicadas shed;
There is no use for us in the bleachers-
So lets get drowsy eyed under them and swap spit:
You can slap me on the cheek if you don’t believe me;
But I am the awakened consciousness of the universe,
And you are everything I’ve ever believed in.
Maybe it is not enough, because I am afraid of lightning;
And I can only stand spinning my arms around and
Being romantic in the rain for so long.
I am only migratory because I have to sell fireworks;
And I will buy a home somewhere sometime and
Watch television to forget you;
And you will become the fairytale banned from children,
What is hinted at in the thirty degrees of vision of the crocodiles,
Something even the stewardesses gossip over
As they serve their drinks in little plastic cups,
Showing mournful bosoms while the sun squints through
The high altitude windows to have an early morning peek,
Slipstreaming, whistling even so high above where you have
Become a working girl, jingling your keys, and
Fetchingly stumbling through some wistful
Amnesia.