To Procure The Golden Rule Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Aplomb in the folds of this theatre that was
From a high school I imagine just because:
Lost in the early day gloom in the student parking
Lot sleeping through math or baseball games all afternoon:
Like a spell tossed down to the canal into the rosy
Glove of some crocodile, while the housewives
Were bathing in the sunshine for awhile- like bottle rockets
They was, into a mortgaged cathedral, filling their
Doom: they made love to no one in every room all
Afternoon, while the daylight molested their wine glasses
They bought for themselves, and the jasmine bloomed
Healthily, perfuming the nighttime when the foxes
Stole their hands out of their silky gloves and took them walking
Across the vermilion carpets of mowed grass
And down to the pastures of the canals which proved
To be their mortality’s overpass: the cenotaphs of conquistadors
Sleeping there in undersea ballrooms, the alligators waiting
There, tearless, but happy for the venison raised
Without a thought from their dayrooms- as their young
Children skipped off again into any school,
And they once again set out to procure the golden rule.