The Pleasure Of All Four Walls Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Troubled into the palsy of another glass,
My wife and kid and their kind one room over,
And in the rivers it is snowing
Where I live, seperated into the temperatures made
Differently for every one of our plots:
A checkerboard of weathers where some fairies freeze
And others get lucky and melt and lactitate
And take it all off—
Where the sky boys fly just to get on their busses—
And flowers bloom like those very same coaches,
Choking out the classrooms where they cannot teach us
Any of this stuff—
The house knows luckiness the smaller it becomes,
And just the same a pretty girl can better feel herself
In the pleasure of touching all four walls.