That They Were Wrong Poem by Robert Rorabeck

You’re playing with him, and the daydreams come
And make faces under the moon, like adolescent lovers mouthing
Off in the baths of the boys’ bathroom in between classes:
And yes, it hurts, like the menstruations of bottle rockets croaking
Themselves over
Disney World; but it is all we have: and when I am with you,
Alma, I feel safe: like in an air conditioned cabin, and I just want
To go home and park my wonder lusting bike after a dance in
The middle schools of Disney World,
Like wishes coming down now, and the scientists congratulating
Themselves, shaking hands and finally admitting through the blue
Palms of the starving landscaping upon the many ways that
They discovered that they were wrong.