High School Tourism

Poem By Robert Rorabeck

Stalemate of the ploughs as another year is hers:
The girls get busy for Halloween and then for Christmas:
They play outside of the windows, as if the windows
Were our eyes;
And they seem to fashion inward, like trees growing
Toward the sun,
But moving along from class to class—brown shoulders,
With hair down around her ears,
An epiphany of a nickname—
Until she becomes all of the boldness that gets stolen
During naptime, and I remain sleeping underneath the bus
Until she peels away with another boy to
Travel upwards and upwards
Pass the congregations of the trees—slanting at runaway
Speed—the slope is her runaway
And soon she will consume herself in the air:
Ephemeral, metamorphic high above the daydreams of
High school tourism.

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