While The Waterfountains Await Your Lips Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Imperfections waiting there,
And in the hall:
All of the locker combinations, and my father
Wants to borrow more:
And here I am drinking alone, lingering,
Remembering Sharon in the sunlight of fire drill-
The places that will not fill,
Except that Alma is so brown, and she has become the
Amber fire of my town,
Licking the school houses and the elbows of
Sweet things that even now fail to move,
While the water fountains await your lips or mine.