In The Refrigerators Of Their Own Bedrooms Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Heavy petting while you have trouble breathing
As the sky is clotted with the heavens that the airplanes
Fly through as if some silver instruments for
The operation- while down beneath of them
The purple museums are all wandering for the lost
And found fieldtrips of the children of televangelists:
Each one coming out of his or her sugary dreams
With their guardian angels drooling, and dripping spotty
Sunlight down their shoulders: soon they will grow
Out of their lilac rollerskates and discover acne,
And the ways to live alone underneath the unhealthy
Zoetrope made from the ceiling fan of their bedroom,
But they will still dream of one another, of how they
Once kissed and held hands and roller skated
In a sort of de evolving heaven where all of the rock
Candy was eaten before noon and the return trips home
To trailer parks and little estuaries where some of
Them were beaten for scalding their little sisters with
Curling irons: their beautiful little sisters who have
Now grown up into luxuriously grown women
Who have moved into the Phoenix deserts, one or two
Of them: and they sit there dreaming in the refrigerators
Of their own bedrooms: and they lay there
Dreaming like fish who have grown too big for their
Own streams- dreaming and dreaming,
And waiting and waiting for what must finally become of them.