Jewelry Of Ants Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Jewelry of ants having a picnic on
A paper airplane—
In the definition of a valley of purple tint
In tents of cerulean
With the moon as large as a saucer
Tossing up the waves,
Trying to see their brothers off to school—
And the land lays like a century
In gardens of wilderness
Through the seesaws of epochs—
But most afternoons, puckering to meet
The salt and molasses lips of a truant who
Stands a top of his parents' roof in the afternoon—
He is holding a molatov cocktail
And his d$ck; knowing
That none of this started out
Right—the prettiest of girls lounging off
In busses,
Followed by the coaches and their wives—
They are just pretty enough to pretend
That he should burn it all down
To the end.