On Their Bicycles Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Knights tucked into their tombs, underneath the apple orchards
And far away from home-
Like decorations in pretty arcades that will soon be
Obsolete underneath the sun and the moon
And the otherwise uncountable heavens:
But the angels have freckles, and they eat the daylight of its
Apples,
And the pretend to pet the goldfish swim around and
Around in the unbeknownst oracles of their living
Rooms,
Waiting for the children to come and come home again,
Returning on their bicycles, underneath
The clouds driving their highways across the effervescing moon.