The Earliest Of Classrooms Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Each stitch in the peacock's feather,
A crenulation upon the mountains, stones waved into the
Quartzite caesuras where the lovers fall,
Teeth chipped upon the false romances of hoar frosted mermaids:

The milkmaid riding on the last-most seat of the bus
Turns a blue eye away,
The wind succulates upon her blondness,
Ovid turns her sisters into kites,
Zeus draws a bone and turns into the conquistador's bull,
Pursuing knee-high into the foaming surcease:

My children drizzle into the tiny yellow rooms
Where we have planted them,
Their insufficient nudities beginning to dry like dew in the morning
of the first day of school:

They are look up at her. They have forgot all of their memories.
A goshawk touches two weeds together in a thorny bush,
And a new pornography is born high up in the coned armpits
Between two war-begotten countries-

The last word spoken to their virginity has no meaning;
It is sent to turn them feral so that they may escape these earliest of
Classrooms:
Leaping billy-goats of metamorphosis,
The fairytale spumed between two nests of giants:

They are freed to roam the canals dredged behind the backyards
Of society. The little girl pauses to kiss an alligator frozen by her presence,
And the land beckons in a bucolic, mowed excellence-
Where nocturnal boys recline forever, arms crossed behind their fermenting brains,
Where gem-sized grasshoppers speckle their
Acned cheeks, far into the forever backyards of the most forgetful housewives.