The Middle Of My Little Neighborhood Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Hard cut are the loins of fireworks:
Ripped right through the paper middle, thrown by
Paper boys
On their routs through the trailers in the trailer parks:
As loud as dogs to the rusting
Windows-
The joy into which they are thrown, a beating heart
Cast over the middle of an empty sea:
While buses wait in the turn arounds of school:
Little pinhole flowers grow,
And the super markets breathe- slow motions truths
And faults- peppers of sunlight and shade,
Make truancies with another boy who will
Soon separate from me into common manhood:
There they go,
As the lion’s yawning mouth is filled with silver grasshoppers;
As I pretend to be doing something good,
And the sun jumps over my little house in the middle of my
Little neighborhood.