By How The World Has Turned Poem by Robert Rorabeck

An epiphany occurs above the used cars:
The sun turns, a pinwheel, glowing over the girls who stand
Like spectators before the traffic,
Hoping absentmindedly for a parade
Until night washes its tide through the once kindled glade,
And moves back and forth like a ball of silver snakes
In a bath,
While all of the birds twitter excitedly in a colony up in one
Corner of the ceiling,
Altogether so very unhappy by how the world has turned.