Before All Of The Stores Are Closed Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Around in the hairpins of another lonely fiasco:
Fingers moving toward what they will- like car doors and
Unicorns,
Apple pies and the shadows of little girls on the windowsill
Underneath the maple trees and the American Flag:
And the journey of short cuts,
The little league fracases that don’t get too far: the leaps on
The sojourns of green velvet fields just crenulated enough
To feel the warmths of skipping flight:
I wonder who they are going over to see, while the red holies
Grow, and the sun tattoos the blueness with its over eagerness
To get to her before all of the stores are closed.