The Avenue On Eight Wheels Of Skates Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Double-wide trailers hiccup with scotch-
And gin;
And they are being wheeled away in the middle
Of America,
In a bed of bundling hay;
And the sky wakes up and wears a captain’s
Hat;
And he is a good man who still has both of his
Hands, and what do you think of that;
But look up, and see your father in the tattering
Of ice-clouds,
Your relatives in the harelip of tornados munching
Brotherly on the comely esplanades;
And then the city sways like scythe like a moon,
Like a phosphorous orifice on the edge of the glade;
And you kind of know if you could only make
It there, you would be safe; but you don’t
Know- And she doesn’t want to make love to you,
But she sure looks good going down the avenue
On eight wheels of skates.