Their Fairytale Homes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

And there they lay sleeping
So lost and so nude in a pile of limbs
Like discombobulated and
Bled roses
Being covered by snowflakes
Underneath the mountain—
And, as a rule,
The sled came to collect them
One by one—to take them
Back to their fairytale homes
To their families
Who worried about them—
And in the summer they
Melted again—
And their eyes ran like pinwheels over
The escarpments where the arrowheads
Were lost—
And they looked so beautiful running
Together,
Running to the bitter end,
Where they leapt to the clouds—
And basked there, fawning in those
Unbelievable gardens
Straight over the heads of the Indians
And the peddlers—
Where entire families entered into
Supermarkets and disappeared—
And joyriders slipped to movie theatres
Just to enjoy the kisses of tongues—
And it wasn't their world anymore,
But at least they wouldn't have to go to
School—and if they were
Found out by tomorrow that they
Never existed—
At least they wouldn't be around to care.