Skipping Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Buried in the beautiful fountain
Betwixed all the chalk and the laughing black
Men, fawning and clapping
On their merry streets- the world is
A wilting gazebo about you, and I moved
Nearer beneath the elbows of the trees
Who weep over you,
As black men tend to the stars- and your
Lover lives in another cemetery across the
Train tracks where deliveries are being made:
And little girls are skipping rope,
And a robin is singing.