The Highschool Of A Baseball Game Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Repeating in the lions of the gaseous promises:
They sometime get lit up, and have their song- like girls
With lips in sleds,
They go over their boreal beds, and know when they
Are going to get home:
And their fathers waiting for them there, cuneiform ed into
The darkness,
That once possessed the sentinels of the forest with animals
Inside their stores who never feared of
Being bitten by serpents: the luscious syrups of
Forked knowledge,
Key words in bright Merry Go Rounds- compounded
Pleasures of soft hills, reciprocations of green inns and blue
Fires,
Garlanded with the scarred cheeks of chicken wire;
And when once they were home, they took off all they knew
And climbed nakedly up the stairs and basked hung over
The mezzanine of truancy’s preposterous allocations,
Who pretended to give to their opened thoughts the luscious
Cornucopia of cicadas to lavished songbirds;
Thus in the husks of degraded roe, they seemed to lavish,
Basking their like graveyards for werewolves:
And thus the heavens kept them pearled through the closing times
Of dusk;
And amnesia ed by the sun, they stroked again, pearled and out
Early as if for the high school of a baseball game.