Into This Old High School Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Into this old high school of my dialect,
You represent something I am seriously not fond of-
Even as I watch disbelieve as older
Than old frogs
Leap and jump to the moon—
And the rockets burst like chardonnay—
Or anyway I cannot spell you—
And I am not clear that I am otherwise happy
As the busses and the busses and the busses
Turn around anyways like the mariposas of
The poets of anyways—
And I've just been languishing here besides
The bedside of the telephone—
Anyways—
Wondering and wondering of
You cannot make out the souls of the remote
Control boats that seem to be happening
Like the bursting hearts of fireworks beside
You and always and just because in the
Holidays of the bedrooms and the bedrooms of
Your holidays anyways.