Seventh Period Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Crippled inflections of blue birds.
I want to curse, but I do not know her language.
In fact, I cannot speak at all,
But she is smoking a cigarette, her legs crossed,
And she knows.
Now she is just a color and we focus on
The girls running track in the red oval of the high school.
Their auburn hair is streaming. They may be virgins,
They may be wild horses reincarnated, and I can almost smell them,
And it is seventh period,
But the day is still playing like a violin,
But no one has looked at me all day.
We drove to Chris’ house and I came back
Drunk from his father’s liquor cabinet, prepared for
History.
A blond girl named Tammy walked over and admired my drawing;
She is a lieutenant in the air force now,
And she doesn’t imagine me, though I think of her
In soft blues and red lips.
A girl named Amy told me she had a dream that
My cat had kittens last night,
And I told her that was true, though I had to think about it.
Then I also remembered that yesterday was my birthday
And the cat was black, but Amy hardly talked to me
Again through the rest of our classes together.
I had holes in my shoes, but I wouldn’t buy new ones,
And since then people have succeeded, and people have failed,
But I once kissed Michelle in the back room of the Catholic Church.
Afterwards, she went home naked with another actor.
Slide your tongue to the back of your throat and speak to me,
Because I cannot say your name.
I cannot remember the pain inside the canal of your eyes,
Even as your legs ran around, their white candy striping the earth.
Now we focus on her again, and she has not moved.
Holding her cigarette close to her face. Her eyes are brown,
Her legs crossed.
I want to curse, but I have lost the power of speech.
Out in front of the school, parents are driving around and around,
And everyone is leaving, but I cannot move.