Into That High School Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now to the ghost towns flying
Without looking up into all of this cantankerous spume,
Without even a word to remember on our
Pillow,
Drooling and spilling over into the gunfights that mound
The hills all around our
Red and pornographic fort: and now I have my head held
High,
Remembering the yellow emblem, the flaunting of conquistadors
Throughout the ripe orchards,
As throughout all of those fluming carcasses,
Cursing as they remembered themselves:
Life some kind of god looked over by airplanes,
Whilst all of this dust returned to the cropped grasses
All about the fingernails of the trailer park
As into dusk we figured out how to stop touching ourselves,
With all of the industrialized engines touching down
And figuring out how to look so pretty
Even amongst the fields,
As the baseball players spoke up and cursed, even as all of our
Pinwheels faded, folding into nothingness
Completed, just as the fist traffics bundled into the mists,
And swore, making the fist missive steps into that high school.