Lawrence Ferlinghetti, "Retired Ballerinas, Central Park West"

I don't read much poetry, but I couldn't help being struck by the sharp imagery in this poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, who is celebrating his 88th birthday today.

Retired Ballerinas, Central Park West
by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Retired ballerinas on winter afternoons
      walking their dogs
in Central Park West
(or their cats on leashes—
The cats themselves old highwire artists)
The ballerinas
      leap and pirouette
      through Columbus Circle
      while winos on park benches
      (laid back like drunken Goudonovs)
      hear the taxis trumpet together
      like horsemen of the apocalypse
      in the dusk of the gods
It is the final witching hour
      when swains are full of swan songs
      And all return through the dark dusk
      to their bright cells
      in glass highrises
      or sit down to oval cigarettes and cakes
      in the Russian Tea Room
      or climb four flight to back rooms
      in Westside brownstones
      where faded playbill photos
      fall peeling from their frames
      like last year's autumn leaves

(Via Minnesota Public Radio.)