The Penumbras Of Their Late Afternoon Poem by Robert Rorabeck

All the ghosts up in the equipage
Spitting in harmony:
And now they all sing like the last thoughts of
Birds in a bath,
Or the passing lips of teenagers over
A high school fountain:
And the busses are turning around and filled with
Summer light:
And then there is the common place exegesis,
But where are they all going,
In their everyday flight: but back to the
Oasis of everyday homes,
And the penumbras of their late afternoon
Televisions,
With clouds floating over their mowed yards,
And everyday mothers soon to be coming home to them.