Kicking Up Her Gowns Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Boiling either way,
Taking left turns- incredibly reckless bicycles
That shot out of school like cannons,
Or other inept fanfare:
If this is the way you are going down to the joy
World,
Take me there on you handlebars:
Be a good sport if you’re going to find out
Where the girls don’t even know where they are sleeping
Without ceiling fans tapering their illusions
Like the Oxnard of windmills:
The man made lake is to trap a beautiful woman an
Make her into the wish of the evening,
The lady of the evening, tattooed in crepuscule and
A sorority of mailboxes,
With the niggardly seeds pushing her in the censer,
The fat bacon of the swing folded beneath her whistling
As$; and this is as far as we’ve gotten with her,
Some decades out of high school,
But fist fights will abound in the jubilee weeds once we
Unfurl our foreheads and figure out how to spell,
Then to understand that she’s just a mannequin
Of spurious the ill effected hope,
Her body gone higher up to the mountains after turning
Her tassel counter clockwise and kicking up her gowns.