Playgrounds Of A Lesser Sky Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Liquor of her pearl-brown shoulders, and all of
The night the moon: I think, who does she make love
To now,
As the trailer parks sway underneath the cinders-
The evaporations of the sky that have eyes like alligators;
And they remember their pasts, the short lives
Of dogs, or the easy tricks I brought upon her, moving
Religiously in my cars:
The dolphins swam out in the intercostals just so the
Tourists would have something to look forward
To while eating their lunch,
But afterwards they would have to again reveal themselves
To their children getting home at the same time,
Wishing they were cicadas so that they could lose themselves,
Accumulating on the shoulder blades of cypress
Like the busts of heedless royalty, or the pitiful words like
These said to a muse that no longer reads the fire signals
Jumping up to the airplanes mark their territory in the prodigious
Playgrounds of a lesser sky.