Of Suburbia's Daylaboring Truancies Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Writing in the earliest joy,
Caracoling the old neighborhoods that never raised
Anything new,
And even made the sun seem wearied, going up and whistling
In its payrolled hullabaloo
Above the parasols that shared the still-life of the housewives
And the alligators,
As the parks swung, smoking its childless days in the middle
Of school,
The debutants all spilling out of their boudoirs and heading
To the doors of busses
To let their perfumes decanter through the transom’s dreams;
Where bicycles floundered
And the fireworks sang all spinning out invisibly in the middle
Of suburbia’s day laboring truancies.