Mobiles Of Legs And Breasts Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Even the rain clouds have shoulder blades.
They flex and sweat over the city of simulacrum
Who draw the pictures on the streets of
The latchkey children who also live there
Who smoke cigarettes at communal pools hunted
By the ghosts of housewives and electronic
Reindeer that only know one of two dances,
Like the haunted echoes of the creators hand
And mobiles of legs and breasts
That dance and fawn across the avenue, and like venison
Cast their shadows in the water without return.