Presupposing That Spring Had Come Again Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If I kissed her it was under the halo of a lunch truck.
Or I didn’t kiss her:
And all of these backyards are so sure of themselves without
The need for the playfulness of otters;
And all of these backyards don’t have a single cypress;
And they bleed all over themselves,
And Christ is waking up fully yawning in the surveillance of an
Empty bed, but he has no need for detective work:
He remembers just what he said:
And then last year at Thanksgiving I was king of my high school again,
Because I saw things from the top of that rooftop,
And I was young again: while all the families bled out into the world
Just like birthday cake making wishes, or just like the little golden
Dishes of little golden fishes,
And my new old love spit into a drinking fountain: spit and it was
Enough to bring the birds again,
To bring all the little birds whistling with their hands in their pockets
Happy and not so happy, presupposing that spring had come again.