In The Midst Of Our Gorgeous Streets Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The night in her elegant mountains can do
No wrong:
She is a balmy sweetheart,
And I sing to her beside the unsteady traffic:
Everyone is getting home to
Pop popcorn and cozy up with the workaday
Denouements- those young cravings they
Still have:
And her eyes are blue and far away:
She doesn’t have to go up to see angels bathing
At the top of her treeless sisters:
She is already there, or in his arms;
It is the same- that early in the morning she felt
Guilty of thinking of me,
While even then I was stepping up to get a better
Look nearer the day gone surroundings;
That she had forgotten herself, that she was here:
One of these blown down and truncated in the store-
Front abominations,
Dropping jaws throughout the day:
I should think that she should make all the money there
Is in the mortal realm, to have such a radiant truant
In the midst of our gorgeous streets.