The Highest Swing-Sets Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The highest swing-sets taken down
Over the ghosts of
Where I once parked my truck—
That adolescence of
Cherry-bombs is over—
I have myself a wife and unborn son—
But I still swing the glass of words
About here,
Listening to the traffic on its somnambulatory
Quests—
After midnight and the end of
Metamorphosis—
When even the dogs sleep,
And Eve lays down with the strawberry eating
Tigers—
Her basket empty of the illusive stars,
But her dreams filled by so many
Promises.