Underneath The Penumbras Of The Migratory Ferris-Wheels Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The tiniest fingers of a heart playing a flute
Over the embers of a kindergarten
Fills the pit where I've been singing—
Watched by the cold gems in the eyes of
Crocodiles and alligators that once
Watched me kissing you on the mouth
While the whole world turned:
Teachers who were full of themselves,
And housewives too—
Going to and from stores, air-conditioned—
Petty, always forgetful of how they once
Wore roller-skates—
Or how the firefighters slid down the poles
Backlit by the prepubescent mountains
That carried the purple and blue mountain lions
Not so far away from them,
But kept all of their finest secrets to themselves
In the keyholes of their bosoms—
Until the rainstorms came, so full of gasoline
And forgotten fairytales—then the goldfish
Gossiped inside of their wishing wells and
Plastic bags—
And mothers whispered to themselves
Underneath the penumbras of the migratory
Ferris-Wheels, where they swore and swore
That they could say nothing bad about anyone else.