The Presupposing Romance Poem by Robert Rorabeck

When I let you in, I will be
Behind the door-
And the rubbish of your eyes will affect
Me when they turn like
Rusting fireworks
Beneath the American flag where I am
Waiting for a kiss:
Then in the presupposed surrender of
A flattering high school,
We will meet like parents on Sundays
And say our prayers
And eat peanut butter and jelly beneath the
Playgrounds and the graveyards
Where our progenitors are buried like livestock
Piled up for the additions of a god
Who never comes home:
But waits for a lover somewhere across those
Dulled and blunted mountains-
That will never come,
And we will pity him, as we pity ourselves,
Waiting for the presupposing romance
Of our school day to finally come to an end.