Overreaching Tomorrows Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Arrange the night for cadavers
Who could not possibly know your name.
Take the turnpike to Disney World,
And observe the blood spatter of Tinker Bell
In her small world of murder.
Stay until there are fireworks and anonymous
Rain showers which slick the sclerotic tracks
Of roller coasters, who seem to be sweating
Hard from making little girls scream all day.
Allow her in your mind to lie down and make
Love with fabulous men,
Then arc away on the swings from the
Elementary school,
Understanding that it is not perfect what they
Are doing. Without knowing it, reproducing
The accident of their parents, the occidental
Currencies of rearranging fluids in the swimming
Parks of their passing rooms. They are not
Accompanied, not anymore than you are watching
The deciduous strip show in the high picnics
Of everlasting bachelors. In the morning they
Will drift away like salty tourists, and their eyes
Will turn, and they will not remember. They
Will go to class and become good, but you know
The scores in the red clay, where you have sat
And excreted your fluids and odors, where the
Pale legs jog into the overreaching tomorrows-
The inconsistencies in the plotting of postmodern
Tulips, and the inappropriate landscaping which
Needs too much water to survive in this fickle
Climate.