Girls Who Are Never There Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Girls Who Are Never There



Pick me up and carry me because
I don’t care-
I have golden centipedes in my hair.
I wake up drooling
In the middle of class,
Dumb eyed and doorbell shoed
For girls who are never there.

The sky a yawning precipice
Of pockmarked heroes,
The sky a blue hero of chicken
Pox
And broken matchsticks,
The sky a blue daisy of rotten
Eggs
For girls who can never be found there,
For girls who are never there,

Baring all their broken sorrows
Like eyes hatching blue phoenixes,
Deep and swollen,
Swooning like deeply affected ingénues
Or overfilled shopping carts
For my tomorrows
That are never really over
For girls that can never be gotten there,
For girls who are never there.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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