To Look Into Your Eyes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Cars churn like washing machines in the distance,
Fifteen minutes before new work, scars like bruises on my
Temples like orchards being overworked in a furnace;
And the sky going ever upward like drapes in a cathedral,
Like plumes of a forest fire, or the truancy of angels smoking
Underneath all those tall swings the authorities have since
Dug up
To make the world a safer place, just so innocent children couldn’t
Get high enough to look into your eyes.