As An Empty Highschool Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Oh, I’ve looked at you from your window again:
Like a still life jogging by the fire hydrant:
That you never left the boys from that university:
Never got scarred into married lives:
Bosomy, as brown as an eternal flame, a lighthouse making its
Tips off the sailors it brings in,
Dragging them over the bones and pompadours of the
Cenotaphs of seahorses and conquistadors;
Until they can smell the bouidors of you and yours sisters orchards:
And they make believe that they are dancing
Under the homeopathic gravity of the stars: they make believe
That they are well, and that you are already home,
Your bicycle sleeping nose first into a bouquet of grass;
And I am feeling myself in the darkness, the world spinning
Like a knowledge filled fruit falling down to sleep beneath
Her mother, anyways: the thinker vacant as an
Empty high school, the philosopher never even entering that town.