Love In The Woods Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Whatever pretty architecture starting out
Yawning and seesawing her legs and trying to find her
Way to grandmother's house:
Getting lost into the busiest prisms that hang beside
The rented houses of our shared childhoods
Remembered at the end of dead end streets
Amputated into canals:
Streets now paved where Mexicans and Mexicans now
Live—reminisces of you come up to surface
In the beautiful rainstorms of a summer that is
Made up of just so many pretty words:
As I try to teach the children their manners,
As their idols are incarcerated,
And their parents or whoever make love in the woods.