The Turnstile Ballets Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Friends embedded in the lines of second grade
Calligraphies: all the lush white faces looking over the
Turkeys of Christmas,
Their trailers twinkling, and I doubt now that you can
Even love me,
Because you have been astride that fellow too long
To stray apart,
Even if he has been your second hand devil:
You might come over tomorrow, Alma, and we might make
Love,
And we might even die together, spilling our guts,
Should he find out:
But that would just make us prematurely immortal
Too far beneath the beautiful mountains for the remains
Of our love to turn out;
But I know the road it takes to get to Disney World,
And I know the sun will rise,
As I have seen the light of your soul twirling its dun pinwheels
Like felicitous geysers practicing the turnstile ballets
From your innocent eyes.