The Wishes Of One Or Two More Birthdays Poem by Robert Rorabeck

No longer negotiable as if from the summer pools:
All the paper jacks of autumn crescendo and blow away the papers
Of resolved news:
The billboards are bit by a plague, and the world continues on a journey
Of enamorous gravity: while the sun expands like
A yellowing wolf fighting traffic:
And maybe by this time next year, Alma will have forgotten me:
Run off with another man, her brown skirts skipping to and from
Mexico underneath the out of work constellation that gives so little
Its many: maybe she will no longer fear my love at
This time next year, or by the wishes of one or two more birthdays.