Underneath The Broken School Bus Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Sometimes words are cruel and dredge deeper than
Canals
Where kidnappers put all of their sleeping children
Abed and to reptilian breast vivisected like dark
And maggoty presents for
A satanic Christmas;
And it is a sad lonely place periodically no deeper than
A puddle,
And I have been musing and biting on my lip for a
Bit,
Wondering upon what pretty lady my eyes will feast upon
Throughout the slanting sundials of ever present hours.
Anna-bell says that they are food for the teeth
And not the eyes;
He recommends sex with cornflakes and milk,
Not cherrios-
And today a very fine gringa asked him at what hour
I would get off work-
Imagine her surprise when she found out I was the boss,
And now my father is hooking up the trailer in the
Dark and like a superhero to go and save all of his horses,
And maybe my mother is walking towards me in the blinding
Light,
But all I can think about is Diana, the Columbian who drives
The lunch wagon,
Who looks like the prettiest and most curvaceous woman
To ever exist, and Anna-bell says she thinks I’m cute
And wants to date me,
But I have to get my tongue unstuck first. I should really go ahead
And shoot myself,
Because each word is another step further down the ironic
Easement to where the awful mirrors reveal the faces of dark
Children and the unsteady turn of reptilian water wheels,
In the horned gyrations of a venal water spout,
Where the ice-cream and the sounds are all runny as an oil slick,
Like a once beautiful orchid which has long since wilted from
Disuse underneath the broken school bus.