The Trigonometry Over The Baseball Diamonds Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Not deserving the soldiers of my heavens
Here they come again-
Night and panthers and night bivouacked underneath
The stars where I
Have already failed the best radios and Disney World—
You go home to him and you are attentive:
You might do this single trick forever and forever, if
It is your game—but my tongue is no longer tied
To the pies of your vagina:
You see—I have joined the rodeo that is evaporating;
Silent trick upon silent trick—
Words in the classrooms are daydreams—
The faucets echo—your parents echo of the love
They have for you—they keep for you—
And you fall in love with another coworker—another
Man—at the movie theatre or equally dissimilar haunts—
I don't know what is in the makeup of you game—
I am just trying to survive the day myself—
And echoes of echoes—
Repeating in the formaldehyde forlornly—
Looking out from the glass jars to see their mothers,
But they are already there—tomorrow
When the sunlight rises in the trigonometry over
The baseball diamond and nobody is so amazed
That everybody remembers me.