In A Tomorrow Of Tomorrows Poem by Robert Rorabeck

There is a boy who is taking a brown bag
Everyday—and enjoying the whatever savageries
That do exist
For whatever and into whatever reason
That I have enjoyed for you for this little time
While you were playing and enjoying whatever waves
In my little classrooms—and then you were
Half-hazzardly building to the maelstroms—
And either way it was not espionage—
But it was just another plan that was drunken and
Echoing over the business park
And into the satelittes that could not pick me up:
That this was then a pretty swallow—
And into the anonymity of the graveyard,
As the graveyard itself was picking up the heavier elements
And again and again carrying and carrying
Heavier and heavier tools up the mountains
And up the mountains—well, then—here seems to
Be the very appreviation of it—up again—
And up again—in busied estuary of tomorrow—
While you will try swearing of the cloaks in the clouds
Of the forays of the tomorrows—I have done enough
Studying to remember how it is that I need to survive—
And while then in the busy elements: remember that I love
You, and I will love you in a tomorrow of tomorrows.