High Schools That Are Still Pretty But Probably Never Existed Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I wanted to go on the merry-go-round with you,
Alma:
On the day of our truancy, which I kissed the lips of the virgin of
Guadelupe, praying to her that it would never set:
And I held your hand Alma while we looked at the Tasmanian devils
And you chastised me for looking at the white housewives,
When I only made eyes at you:
And I don’t know why you wont move out of your room and come live
In this house:
The termites will all be smoked out after July 4th, and I won’t have to
Shoot myself in the mouth if you come:
We can go and look at the sea, and I can laugh at how with you I have
Inevitably beaten every white girl alive;
And the last time I made love with you, I brushed my fingers across
Your ribs and seemed to recognize them:
It felt so good, like going down to Miami with my father back when I
Was still reading Encyclopedia Brown,
And I listen to my parents howling in their missionary positions
Hiding behind the beaded curtains:
And I am getting to comfortably fat and sedentary to hike to your house
Again, Alma; and I sent you orange roses yesterday that
Had almost died; but I bought new shoes today,
And you are still beautiful, as the cream rises above the beaten down
High schools that are still pretty but probably never existed.