With My Song Of This Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Really desperate, as desperate as boys wanting
To become real,
Or trying to figure hard on what it is to be exactly what
They were yesterday in the biz,
While the water fountains gathered at her tan lips,
And the teachers’ echoes called
Over the migratory steps of a red Mexico: the landscaping her
Favorite color:
While we kissed open mouthed before the eyes of
The albino alligator, and Alma says she remembers this,
While the bicycles park in suburban bliss,
And she recedes like a well placed waterfall back into her
Neighborhoods that I somehow miss,
While the stewardesses call their captains in the skies:
And they all wear pristine platinum wings over
Cerulean uniforms, their arms spread like wildflowers, this way
And this inside their leaping cabins:
And I must say that I know nothing about her, but that I think
About her all of the time,
And call to her with my song of this.