Lets break into houses and make love- <br />Lets make fun of the teachers on their way into school- <br />Lets wake up early and play baseball in the dying <br />Park as the cicadas shed; <br />There is no use for us in the bleachers- <br />So lets get drowsy eyed under them and swap spit: <br />You can slap me on the cheek if you don’t believe me; <br />But I am the awakened consciousness of the universe, <br />And you are everything I’ve ever believed in. <br />Maybe it is not enough, because I am afraid of lightning; <br />And I can only stand spinning my arms around and <br />Being romantic in the rain for so long. <br />I am only migratory because I have to sell fireworks; <br />And I will buy a home somewhere sometime and <br />Watch television to forget you; <br />And you will become the fairytale banned from children, <br />What is hinted at in the thirty degrees of vision of the crocodiles, <br />Something even the stewardesses gossip over <br />As they serve their drinks in little plastic cups, <br />Showing mournful bosoms while the sun squints through <br />The high altitude windows to have an early morning peek, <br />Slipstreaming, whistling even so high above where you have <br />Become a working girl, jingling your keys, and <br />Fetchingly stumbling through some wistful <br />Amnesia.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/some-wistful-amnesia/
