On A Promise For Indians Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Sad wounds on a promise for Indians—
Another night falling down across the birds,
As the hobos settle in,
Knowing that they are lucky,
That it is the entrepreneurs who have
To go back to work tomorrow,
And the teachers and the students
Who have to go back to school tomorrow—
Even after the sun has set,
They wet their lips, and listen
To the apathetic romances of the
Traffics—
By this way they come to know themselves.
In the morning they will pan handle
And put new personifications onto
The clouds—
They will never have to go to Disney World—
Their minds are free, and where they are
Going they have never been before.