Returning To The Echoes Of Her High School Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Days begotten of firework chiefs:
Mighty good days, where tomahawks chew
Scalps red under unfiltered sunlight:
Then we knew who we were, what was going on,
Biting our lips lustfully,
Chewing gum as the classes grew-
In the time of mighty chiefs of teal headdresses,
Of papier-mâché beliefs,
I passed Sharon in the halls, my face flaming with
Burning paper:
Sharon seemed to smile sadly at me, going through
Her avenues;
But how to describe her avenues,
I don’t know them-
I thought of Sharon outside of class-
I almost seemed to die underneath the school bus,
As I lost myself further and further into my
Body’s loneliness:
All the terrapins went away. The alligators stopped their
Weeping,
And my sister was no longer a wishing well I could
Throw pennies of hope.
Then buses that were my crèche no longer returned,
And what did Sharon do but fly away,
The perennial bird that no longer was perennial:
She destroyed the word,
And now I know nothing except that all of this liquor
Tastes like returning to the echoes of her high school.