The Architectures Of Paper Airplanes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The classrooms laugh—it is getting as high
As a ferris wheel on Valentines—
Someone is mouthing off—the principal is
Coming like the big bad wolf for
Little red riding hood—
Or something else is happening—
She shouldn't be reading—she shouldn't be
Coming to see me in the afternoons—
She isn't even old enough to drive—
She forgot her flute in my room during our
Club where she fed me chocolate M&M
One day after Valentine's Day—
Is she my muse just because
I am married and will have my first
Child in something over a month—
And I think, there are no graveyards in China—
And all of these words are but the architectures
Of paper airplanes being sent into the ebullient fire.