Beside The Sea Poem by Robert Rorabeck

What is the space underneath a swing set—
It seeming forever at leisure in the park beside the sea:
Underneath the sun in his days—
Becoming a fenced off illusion where the grass grows
Above the knees—
There was my childhood in no places good—
Finding a way of getting around her and climbing up her
To sit there like a bird in its nest,
Cradled in her arms, sucking upon her breast—
And now I drink liquor in some form of illusion—
Bizarre and orgastic,
As other children come home weeping—where
Are their mothers,
Who have for so long forgotten them—
And I see them forever leaving from our places
Beside the sea—