The Corsages Of The Turnstiles Poem by Robert Rorabeck

First of all, the critical flowers:
Reindeer have trundled them again, and they are
All over the place. I am sorry,
Their necks are all broken,
And the blue lights are out in the Catholic
Church.
This night, no one is returning home:
The arrows all lay forgotten where they were
Spent, unexcavated from the red tenements of
Earth, but at least that means that we can make love:
While the roller coasters and the airplanes
Move further and further away,
Preoccupied by their own entertainments, and not
By what the government does to amuse itself:
While the angels have been singing
Or sucking their thumbs: and your parents have been
Enjoying the limelight,
Filled with strange amusements, while the ethereal
Holidays sing to themselves through the wind tunnels-
And the waves dance up to the corsages of
The turnstiles, hoping that finally at least one amongst
Them will gain his turn.