Becoming Just Another Beauty Poem by Robert Rorabeck

They spend all day riding this song:
They go up through the low heavens, and give their
Tender blood to
Freckle the shoulders of midday grandmothers-
As all of it is a ride
Singing through the midway’s loneliness,
Because all too soon they will have to move along-
As the glass boats sing through
The orchids bleeding together- as I have tried
Holding your hand,
As you turn away and drive home through the
Misanthropic shadows, becoming just another
Beauty I have more and more trouble
Believing in.