Plastic Cowboys Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now the teams have numbers and plastic
Cowboys carefully settled with their gun hipped
Atop the terrapin;
And toy boats sitting around my aunts undeveloped
Breasts in the bathtub before my yet living grandmother
Yelled at both of us to get out:
That aunts and nephews should no longer play that
Way at eight or seventeen;
But we hadn’t realized we were going to die,
And had only been rumored of Adam and Eve:
The earth was sleeping in its furrows in utopias of ants:
And we could grow larger together by exploring each others
Pants,
But nothing matters know but slipping into the city,
The city of aliens and strangers, and the barges with their
Boxes of fireworks which couldn’t be anymore real,
That still slip empirically like sleeves of velveted concrete
Under the low hanging bridges and the sheriff badges of stars
Annoying all the valiant people who are still
Trying to kill themselves.