Everything That Is Soon To Be Real Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Day is first dark, and it ends in dark:
Softly, unobtrusive; but in the middle of its arc,
Day is so abusive, a ribald in his lime tree park:
Making copper cannons squint green with
Envy,
Making forts flash against the sea,
Or housewives topless in their driveways:
Words cannot really describe the apex of the day,
The saint hood of immaturely overage boys
Making muscle gyms in their fathers’ garages,
Keeping out for girls
With their thorny corsages: if they can make it through
Noon, who’s to say what all they can love:
But in the dawn, and in the dusk, most amphibian,
Swings the swing sets of the monarchs,
And sit the prettier girls all lost in shadow,
Books waiting patiently in their laps; but it is so sad
To them when the sky begins to arc golden,
For soon the bus will come and the day will go
Leaping through its wonderful keyhole:
And everything that is soon to be real will certainly
Be sure what it does.