The Unbeknownst Joy Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In the middle of the dead-end street,
The flower opens its heart to a unicorn.
All of the latch-key children
Are across the canal,
Their parents off selling whatever it
Is they have to sell,
But it is there—the truth or
The beautiful lie.
In the night it will turn into a fireball.
The kittens and the lizards will
Watch.
Well-fed, the moon will jump,
Lactating over the houses
That contain only so many cribs—
From them, the babies are watching
With their hearts,
Their eyes closed—
Not one word will cross their minds—
Theirs is the unbeknownst joy:
That they will live almost forever
And behold so many airplanes
Leaping over the baseball games of
The loves they had yet to feel.