Little Evidence Left Behind Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Fingerprinting a theft—little evidence left behind after
A sun shower on a broken heart—
Broken words told the empty street that is iridescent—
Like an oil slick trying to impersonate a rainbow:
This month there will be Halloween
And next month elections: I will try to wriggle my way through
School—I will bend my neck and drink from
The water fountain at my discretion—
The neighborhood of our avenue will continue tumbling
Through the pine trees of an unspeakable truant's joy—
And awakening in the morning,
Mouth filled with the information of sleep walkers—
Only to pull over—our kids collected from the rodeos of their
Daycare, making sand castles to the individuated gods—
Surprised by the words they know—
Awakening in the afternoons of their weekends, clever,
Well-fed—and playing down their one way streets
As airplanes shoot like bottle rockets through the skies.