The Happenstance Of Suburbia Poem by Robert Rorabeck

This is how it abandons for the good of trumpets:
While I spill myself over loose change like a wish,
Not even knowing if I will even get up again
To see another stewardess or Ferris Wheel:
But each day dreaming and turning around, showing off all of
Her good sides, while the high school bands play
Instruments I cannot judge- and the fireworks of our
Truancy burn down the mealy sides of another house anonymous
In the happenstance of make-believe that suburbia commonly
Makes come true.