The Heavens Of Their Neighborhoods Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Girls in the high country kicking off fireworks:
They look like beauties,
But they are such jerks: they don’t even want
To be housewives,
They don’t want to be undone to glisten in
Tidal pools-
They seem like a song- they seem as if to coalesce
Anyway:
Doing their jobs and going home- plebian
Sentiment that is never here:
Riding their bicycles, collecting their rears:
And they seem like a psalm of diamonds
And salts-
And they seem to work, sweating in my hand:
They seem like a long day off of work,
Sweating their truancies coalescing in the
Unsweetened perfumes of the grasses-
And I watch them from the coal mines of innocuous
Living rooms,
Biting their lips until they draw blood,
Their sisters dancing in the candles, the angel
Airplanes coalescing,
And flying over the heavens of their neighborhoods.