Knocking At Their Door Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Getting better—all lit up in the Cathedrals triaged against
The high schools
In a tragic garden of paper snowflakes:
Truancies dripping off the cheeks of canals—
Alligators sounding like the recordings of goodbyes and
Good lucks of Jewish spinsters:
And there they go, bending knees in their own habitats—
What beautifully inoculated gardens where
Sometimes airplanes roar—mouths filled with stewardesses,
With nyloned legs crossing and crossing,
So anxious with entire oceans to explore:
And this their entire wonder lit up like an advertisement
Upon a billboard—something they've tried so hard to
Get to—mirrored and mirroring—
Another night to get to the graveyards and canals of
France:
There they can last forever—as their children cook
Their microwave dinner—simulacrum—
Hyperboles—obvious and intention exaggeration—
Their orifices wetted for fried chicken—
The unintentional foxes with bags of roman candles
Knocking at their door.