Onto A Pillow Of Innocent Grass Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now the numbness of lunch,
And later on trailer parks, talk shows,
Art and fireworks;
And you can sleep underneath her broken
Axels;
And the rain comes and does its pattering of
Onomatopoetic, and the roof looks smooth
Like stain glass in a church,
And the entire bus is emptied like the ghost
Of a vanquished terrapin;
And it would have been so good to love you,
And to have never started out like this,
To have picked you one perfect rose which would
Have been sufficient enough to starting your
Motors of love;
And we could have started out on a fairer avenue,
All perfect, all glued- Having vanquished death
In a painless funhouse, having our pictures taken
With mostly our teeth,
And then tripped with the Pegasus so many feet
Above the earth as to make out in a playground of
Canopied swings,
Throwing all our loose change so that we would
Never have to come down; or I would never have
To look myself again in the mirrors of a
High school bathroom,
Or to have stuttered uncharacteristically for the
Averagely beautiful substitute, or even to have thrown
Myself away again at the feet of the cherished and
Shallow drainage,
Where the lips of adolescents drain, drooling, drooling
All their dreams onto a pillow of innocent grass.