Under The Homeless Swing Sets Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Gambling for this new night
Down in the hollows,
Drinking my watered down spirits,
Hoping to see real life- moonlit humanity
Strolling by
Or cycling like spark lengths of
A bitter poem;
It has been such a long while since I collected
That mammalian press,
Since she was one dozen of my flowers,
Or I caught her auburn turn underneath the
Receptive lights of a supermarket;
And the parking lot is filled with domestic
Ghosts,
And the lake down past the delinquent graffiti
Of the suburban grotto still
Floats rosy tampons like summer camp lotus’
And I never did hold her hand;
I was just wishfull thinking somewhere
Lost in the middling crowd,
While the clouds got up to suntan above the sea,
And my family celebrated a long succession of
Birthdays under the homeless swing sets
And pine trees;
And I suppose I’ll never see her again,
That beautiful memory lost yet more quixotic than
Every wave in the advancing sea.