Baby-Doll Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Hey, baby-doll: Tomorrow will be Saturday: and it will
Be Saturday's sunshine that shines her way across the canal:
Kids I don't like anymore will light off fireworks across the
Canal—
Kids that were always will be too good for me, will take
Down stewardesses from the midway rooms of the afternoon sky
And stick them to the roofs of their mouths like
Sacraments for Easter: see what they have found in their
Eternally suburban rooms: they think that they know so much—
But everything they pretend to know disappears before
It blooms—their fireworks are duds—
Their minnows never metamorphosis—and their greatest loves
Vanish in the evaporations of their unexpected ballrooms.