Inside Mornings Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Mornings come like kindergartens,
With fine and easy thoughts,
Like flowers simultaneously budding
And rippling in the schoolyard-
Morbidly obese maelstroms stomping the
Coolest darkness on the roof as we learn,
And they are our mothers,
As we breathe like space age polymers,
And the rains splatter and trail the frosted pains
On the windows,
Like the paws of a litter of freshly batting kittens,
They unsting the scorpion’s barb,
Who has been waiting in our shoe for us
To get up, yawn and put on all the heavy clothing
We wear to eat breakfast, and then catch the bus
To the classroom, or go to work in a pool of
Untrustworthy lights,
The borealis like a hood twinkling with a hum
From the popcorn ventilations.