Lips Of The Native Prom Queens Poem by Robert Rorabeck

And now they are sleeping in their pigeons of
Ecstasy while I had to wait another year to see if
This was even real,
Working for the church and giving away food every
Saturday,
Underneath the airplanes and underneath the
Mountains while both of
My grandparents were left alive—
Now my Chinese wife is with child,
And I made love to her tonight while it rained—
I seemed to have skipped out of class
And second base with her—
As the day after we met we were married
And I consummated what we are now to be:
Our first child is born,
Our second is waiting in the bull pen—
I am drinking a beer
After one in the morning and still have not
Experienced metamorphosis—
There is yet someone better than me able to
Teach and make a profession
Out of the finest conundrums that were never
Really there—
But for now they plot and seem to be happy
With themselves
As the glaciers melt like the tears of a goddess
Looking down
At the foxes who were too clever for themselves
To ever have gone after any of the grapes
From the movie theatres or anywhere—
And they just waited for a time like this,
For fireworks and no commitments,
As the criminals fled the industrious scene,
Under the sweltering tits of the bilious mountains—
The misfits who one pretended to kiss the Indian giving
Lips of the native prom queens.