To The End Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In the weekend—balloons, babies in the daylight,
Brown skin:
They do not wonder who they are—they have never
Been to school—
They are filled with the equalities of icecream;
And their parents buy things that no one else cares
About:
Their first cat has not died: their hearts never skip a
Beat,
And the kidnappers pass them by, villains set upon
Other delusions—
And in their trams, not knowing a single word,
They seem like they can go on to the end of the
Road—
Fireworks that should never have to burn to the end.