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