To My Fingerprints Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Hesitating beneath the slash-pines
Where the paper airplanes in their changing rooms
Fall—
Starting a kind of kindergartener's fire—
The hobos laugh and fart
And sling back more wine:
And the children of the blue color workers diadem the
Communal pool:
I suppose you haven't seen us here while I was
Writing to you,
Chivalrous and diademed in witch craft:
When becoming venal, trying to telephone you to
Come down from your sorority's
Hall: anyways,
Naked sunlight falls upon the naked back of a rattlesnake,
Professors ride their bicycles home:
Adversaries cross the roller-skating rink,
Turning it into a pugilistic ballroom,
And the knights in the séances dance with death:
Dance with death,
While the marionettes slip into their lovers jaded
Bedrooms, and according to my fingerprints—
Have it all-