Yesterday's Rains Poem by Robert Rorabeck

And you are wrong in all of your slumbers
Perpetually on some other day’s
Afternoon while I can hardly breathe at the pollinations
Of some dog track
And you are getting nailed against a beautiful wall
Until the sea wharfs in its grotto
And I drink all of the wine which calls the chickens home:
The children get up for kindergarten,
They steal things, they go home until tomorrow jumps
Up as yellow and unmolested as a feral child
And across the yellow playgrounds it runs wild
Still not thinking up all of its things;
Until tomorrow springs upon its playgrounds,
As the graveyards of her ancestors cry remembering yesterday’s
Rains.