Some Kind Of Summer Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I glance through the Venetian blinds,
Looking at the vegetation furtively the way a young
Child looks at a beautiful woman who is not
His mother;
And it seems that some kind of summer must be coming on:
I see the splay of pine branches and the splay of their green
Needles,
And the sky is dark behind them: the echinopsis have all closed
In; the butterflies are under the skin of their bark,
Or with whoever butterflies end up in bed with, but the birds
Are singing, and the canals malaise:
The trailer park across the canal looks like resurrected graves:
And when I rise myself and enter unto the outside world,
I would look up into the cradles rocking their séances
In those boughs; and then girls will enter in and out
Through the open air market, coming like wanted hallucinations:
Then they will leave back to their washing machines and their
Flower prints like all dimensions of gardens entering their rooms,
And I will say again to myself, biting my lip
Fretful of the wonderful vibrancies of the world that I want too
Much for,
That some kind of summer must be coming on.