Just Graffiti Poem by Robert Rorabeck

All of the contenders were still laughing whilst the sun
Was just graffiti—
And the mother of my wife told me to look up,
As her father smoked all of the cigarettes
I was forced to buy for our wedding banquet:
Sad stars—
Bright over the fairgrounds—
Turning around, menstruating over the individual
Conundrums of the highways and the high schools:
It was all we had to do—
With the singing trucks selling icecream—
And another day was spilling its orgasms over the overpasses
Of her shoulders,
But she was just concerned with her children—
Like goldfish collected all together from all of the winners
Bedrooms—
Until there was gunfights and another architecture with
The paper airplanes and kites all up in the air:
And then we were moving into another impossibility
Of shadow—
And the schoolroom kept to itself—
As the fires burned like poisonous butterflies dancing all
Across the busses:
And contributing to nothing else—but the houses that they
Kept in their minds—
Until their mothers found them and collected them,
Carrying all of them to their breasts
And reminding all of them that it was time.