To Keep Such Beautiful Weather Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Palm trees waiting for days, whispering the way
They can only do here,
So close beneath the overpasses of her ever burnished
Sea,
And some girls love their football,
But some girls don’t love me:
And these are just words folded up on a page, making
No sense or decoration:
They don’t even start out in the less than amber period
Before the dawn,
When there is nothing on the television, but the snow
Begins to fall;
And it falls so much that it makes the bicycles well invisible,
Toppled over next to the shoe-polish
City like teenage romance,
Something that I cannot remember the taste of,
For the water moccasins in my canals are always making
Such an ochre ball that it is impossible for such weather
To persist underneath their venomous eyes,
Where one or two housewives pass home to cook dinner,
Their heels clicking like a despotic Dorothy,
But it is never enough
To keep such beautiful weather.