That Bleeding Room Poem by Robert Rorabeck

My lips failed in their acting skills many years
Ago, Sharon:
When they parted, they just said nothing:
They preferred to look down like dribbling flowers while
I fornicated on my desk in my far corner of your class:
I sat as far away from you as I could,
Like an astronaught trying to avoid the sun while he fixed
Something,
And you popped your gum; and look how perfectly it has done me
In that you came and moved next to me in an adolescent
Garden;
I knowing that I could never help to grow you as you willed,
And after you knew this and removed yourself from me,
I was as vacant as the newly purchased cemetery up on
My grandmother’s quilting hill:
And you moved away from me with the last kicks of breath
Of a wild Shetland pony moving inland and disappearing for
Breakfast across the ditches and into the orange groves
To grow your daughter amidst the tadpoles and nematodes:
To grow your daughter big and strong and teach her how the world
Can spin,
And dress her in bleeding dresses, and put her in the new classes
Where they teach all the bleeding muses how to do us in.
I still remember you spinning diademed on your axis across that
Bleeding room that they put us in.