The Money In The World Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The city loves as your daughter loves
The merciless floats, those things that the professors never
Care to perceive;
And now my mother is dressed all in black;
She has done away with all of her gunfighters
All tonight,
And maybe she lives on Florida Street with the Winnebago’s
And the flights of indestructible herons:
Maybe she has a new man tonight,
Or maybe she graffiti’s her taboos from the juxtaposed lips
Of open windows and hobos;
But the plays go on even through the midways of that
Green tornados are done sucking away her tomato dacceries-
So now the fields are all far a field,
And yet there is yet sugar cane and school buses,
Turning around and around like the sad music of
The disinterested Russias;
So soon there will be no more beautiful video games,
And all of the beautiful girls will be shut ins kissing
Their dogs
And coming to the names of the boys under their
Damp rugs who can never rhyme for all the money in the world.