The Suburbia We Have Done Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In the suburbias that have the overabundance of
Patios like green shoots,
Where the pools teal, and the housewives glisten and spoke
Off in all the avenues of their pink-glossed limbs,
And each tree is a loose waterfall:
There I have a bed in which I often lie with race cars
And empty liquor bottles beneath me, under a pop corn ceiling,
Under a sale of a sky;
And like me there are also many other bodies juxtaposing:
And all that they can think to be doing is to grow up and begin
Superimposing themselves, conjoining and throwing their
Bones down hallways of equal venture;
And to shoot their eeking young down the same hallways that
They can still remember learning in: math and hyphens and comma-
Splices,
And the worlds of dissected frogs; and the windows gossiping
Headily from strong strokes of the petting sun:
And now all of this gladness gathered together in a softly flowing
Utopia:
Why just look at the suburbia we have done, once we got out of our
Beds and let our bodies run.