Fieldtrips Of Summers Gone Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Too far away from fieldtrips of summer gone-
Of goods things of past young gods,
Of words that ring these feral bells-
You really alter my artistic horizons, but how much
Do you care,
Now that the summer of my beauty is gone:
And there are no more unicorns in the tides surcease,
In the ways of going down far from the east:
No roller coasters or roasted peanuts, tamed alligators
Out sunburst eyes in wicked crepuscule,
While helicopters hang low over wine gardens,
And there are dunes where bicycles lay asleep half doused
Like shed crustaceans,
And I don’t know where I am going-
And you are out in your classroom trying to create little
Things that never fall down,
But your lips have been unsealed and you have gone up
Through the deep surprises of his field,
And the traffic pauses to be surprised at your romantic
Silences,
But you never stop and wander where I have fallen and
Am unmendable-
Just some busted guy now indescribable and indisposed
To great breasted witches down in the long shadow
Of the other side of the wall.