Forested In Daycares Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Forested in daycares, we have built things that
Will never grow up:
They just diminish and are swallowed up by when it rains:
They are not even graveyards,
And the pillows that we go home to when our parents pick
Us up after work only know a little of our tears-
For the girls that we have made love to as good as naked underneath
The skies
Do not have any well known names- they are just as wild
As the wishes that get away with the flames of an out of control
Birthday:
They are like the stewardesses who have mutinies on out of
Control commercial airliners;
And this just spills over and becomes the debased wishing wells
For the dashing smiles of crocodiles and vampires,
Or any of the other age old legends who never even had a thought of
Love that would have ever made them wish to disappear.