Other Men's Bicycles Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Sky of brooms and witches over empty
Baseball diamonds: trailer parks near the sea where
Turtles make hollow nests
Leap over by jackrabbits: and you are here in
The cradle of a book that is already folding, like
A homeless man underneath the saddle of a on
Overpass, burning a worn tire, as the Mexicans
Who have stolen bicycles and women
Mock him like serpents: this is their joy now,
And their brown skin will see it tomorrow-
And they will burn like fire underneath an unapologetic
Sky, as they ride nearer the playgrounds of the sea,
The helicopters passing them deliberately not
Knowing that they are riding upon other men’s
Bicycles.