Snacking On Peanuts Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Grandpa forehead, pronounce me to the
Grinning clock: Its past dinner time.
The papers are getting wet around the storming
Block,
Alligators are blowing lascivious bubbles
Between cavalier teeth: What have they done
To the girls this Easter- the little forget-me-nots,
But put them to bed so deep you’ll never change
Your mind.
The reaper is a grim guest at the battlefield of
Middle-age- He harvests the implanted souls
Right out of the swimming-pooled cage:
He’ll make your best friend’s older sister just remember
Your insouciant obsessions with her after-school
Tanning,
As in the park the truant hummingbirds are feeding
The imposition of the oracular swings, to newer younger
Kids smoking newer younger things:
And the sun leads you out like an old teacher, trying to
Tell you that it isn’t that bad-
That you struck out, and now the field is over
Grown and home to centipedes and scorpions;
How in the carnivals of January you had your amusements
The best you ever had;
And everyone is in the same boat stuck up in the slash
Pine trees from the flood,
The expensive vans like discombobulated terrapin
Belly up- Now how will they eat the flowers of their
Rituals, or even snack on the happenstance of national
Principle;
But you can lie down gray-headed in the fjord, defeated by
The monsters of your lord;
And it will be a long way down- twice as long as it was up,
But there are girls you can dream about while
Holding your breath, a snack of peanuts, even if they’re still too expensive
To afford.