In Your Office An Orchid Blooms Poem by Robert Rorabeck

All the paddy-whack in the woods is returning to
The sound of the comely boys beating themselves into the
Grounds,
The bicycle slaves, the Lincoln-log towns:
The cherry trees who are just stumps, the axes of woodsmen
Buried in the baskets of red-hooded runaways:
And this is our town, or playground of dirty streets:
Where you lost yourself and covered your naked body with
Dust and peat;
And you courted alligators and felt the shells on your feet,
And the day couldn’t last forever- it was bitter sweet.
Returning to your chicken coop of trailer parks,
All the drunkards effervescing on stock cars-
Waiting on your father, recognizing different sorts of plants
That were in your nursery in the back yard:
And what are you doing now, but becoming your mother,
Metamorphosing into someone who made you who you are:
Your feet curl and kiss and dance far beneath the skyscrapers
And power plants and Disney World
Far beneath the stars, right alongside the immobilized and doused
Cars, like candles lined up for a mass that is all a hush;
And your crawl to him while your children ululate in their
Various soft-boarded rooms- Nervously you give him your lush,
And in your office an orchid blooms.