The Woman's Revolutions In The Dusky Park Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Revolutions in the park at dusk:
There is nothing neat about this,
Except from a distance it looked clean,
And her eyes lit up like soft bulbs
Waiting for you on the swings:
Walking toward her,
There is a black man in the shadows
Against her back applying pressure,
Humming things you can’t remember
That you wrote last night:
The best way is to forget,
But with her tattooed it is not easy:
You can piss in the mall’s wishing well,
But it will not take out the promises:
This is where the juveniles sway,
In the used lawn of well-trimmed clichés:
Between high school and the rest of life,
There is where she met you long ago,
And held your hand not knowing
How much like a bird’s wing your grasp was:
Fragile but able to fly,
And she said your name several times,
But did not know it:
When she went away, it was inevitable,
For there are places that stream in work
Down the street with busy neat men taking charge:
There is her encouraging religious sea she swims:
Going away, her eyes are in red shift,
As the zephyrs’ lungs take you upwards
Higher in the supersonic gusts
The energy giant who flew too close to Helios:
Your mothers flit here, and kissing you
Take away the troublesome memories
Of the woman’s revolutions
In the dusky park.