Neither Of Our Disquieting Mothers Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Heart beating the hallways of nostalgia, the water fountains
The valves, and your eyes the doorways and the transoms:
And all of it this delightful truancy, where I never met
You,
But I met you out in the pure, naked swings, out in the
Green corridors of my semi-adult intentions,
And did my best to greet you with the quiet though savage
Gifts that I knew only I could provide,
While all of the traffic bemoaned myself, and both of our houses
Lay as silent as awaiting ballrooms,
For neither of our disquieting mothers were attending home.