The Airplanes Are Almost Gone Poem by Robert Rorabeck

This is the landscaped
Theatre I’ve been working in;
The girls prance through like
The stock of beef stew;
I’ve seen them up in the
Gallery; I’ve heard them
Gossiping like
Faeries in the hollow trees
Planted in perfect rows
Down the streets of the
University;
Perfect graveyards lit blue
By the transoms of
Churchyards,
Girls living here I never knew,
Like princesses at Disney World.
Now the rush hour’s traffic sounds
And the airplanes are almost gone.