The Echoes Of Firecrackers Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The forever brightening cadavers are flying like
Pitches being thrown to little boys
With so much eager practice, being looked upon by their
Untried fathers:
And it goes this way, after the sun gets down, and the movies
Relax:
Maybe the fawns nuzzle with the terrapins,
And the witches stop spinning: they pick up their bottles and
Their jacks and dice:
And return to their car and their lucky rabbits:
And if you happen to see things this way, on the movie like
A Merry go Round through the sporting holidays
Of the young life of a goldfish being swapped through the migrating
Midways:
Then you can say, there is a Disney
World: and she will lay atop you and swish her hair like the curtains
Of a stage that shows you everything: and you make love forever,
With your ear pressed as if to the naked grass of the yard
Of a housewife: and even the eager architects of ants
Stop to listen,
Forever: like the echoes of firecrackers under the changing rooms
Of moonlight- What sallow, feline splendor:
Having finally remembered the path home to which you had never
Returned to before.