The Very Last Time Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Coming up through the blue ways,
Looking for goblins and keeping out for butterflies-
At least once or twice I was a little boy, and these were
The sounds we made together when we would have
Been better off in school- or further away;
But the sun always seemed so close, looking down, and
Inspecting us through the parks,
The fireworks we stole and lit off his little helpers
Who felt suddenly wonderful, and wounded-
The houses that they birthed their fountains around just sat
There, and waited for them to disappear,
Like the alligators in the canals waited for angels,
Or to see through the back, back doors when her lips would
Kiss him for the very last time.