Two Brunettes Named Heather (Pedaling Nice And Slow) Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Awake and sparkling in new amethyst:
My hair is almost red, but I haven’t a job:
Its kind of just like I’ve tried to smile,
As she passes her way with a hiccup of eyes:
Where do such glands lead her that they should
Also lead so many boys:
Entire football teams; but I need to eat other
Things. Why, won’t you just look up into the
Castanets of all these trees. They are truly
Weeping to have so much of their quiet souls
Go down into heaps. The students pass by so
Unattending from points in their destinations of
Their gardens of what can be used-
Sometimes a beautiful brunette stops to tie her
Shoes, but what does she say to them that here can
Be used; and I’ve made that up to be kind to my
Sylvan audience: no brunettes passing by, but the
Assured night and the canvas is empty afterwards
It has been well swept and put into the proper
Grammars that line the sidewalks without a word:
I thought they said I loved her, but I was only passing,
And what the trees did gossip I shouldn’t care to know;
It is the same language as some bicycles, I saw together,
Carrying two brunettes named Heather, pedaling nice and slow.