The Lees Of The Airports Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Cheapening in an amphitheatre outside of
School:
The truants smoke the detritus of paper airplanes;
And they swim in daylight
Which glows like ladyfingers across the wild
Manes
That are neither lascivious or mundane,
But yawn there rippling like uncomely weathervanes:
And this is the stone amphitheatre we all go
To with the terrapin,
To watch them standing around gawking around the turn
Arounds and wash basins;
It happens to be under the lees of the airports,
Of the trees;
And we can sit here forever and let the hungry bees lick
The rosy nectar sucreased from the rose colored
Glasses overturned at our knees.