Our Bedroom Of Sky Poem by Robert Rorabeck

There is the mother
Carousing in her grotto—
There is the place filled
With so many
Misspellings
And not enough Christmas
Lights—
There is the problem—
There is someone else whom
You love waiting in the driveway—
And the same pictures are on
The television—
Nothing is changing—
Zoetropes of mirages—
The same classrooms we go into
To partake in our daydreams—
And those classes that make up
Our bedroom of sky.