The Wealth She Has Stolen Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Lost in the bivouacs of a fruit orchard,
Saying goodbye to a make-believe wife while the
Sun showers slick the ladders
And the day laborers come down, tanning repeatedly,
And eating golden delicious:
What will they go home with, but gold fish in their
Pockets:
Up the cinderblock steps, the house cats and their
Wives waiting for them to read golden books
To the soft dreams of their children
Even while outside there is no more traffic, and the moon
Comes out of her mines with all of the wealth she has stolen.