A School Their Souls Will Never Attend Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Mobilized into other parks farther along- buying
Her flowers and sending them to places
She no longer works anymore:
Streetless cars losing their clothing and pornographies
Never making a sound anymore in castanets of
Australian pines-
Ripples in shells and areolas- the tiniest sea otters
Laughing on her chest,
Mermaids whose mascara never seems to stop running,
And little boys flying away from school:
Flying up into clouds to see airplanes populated entirely
By stewardesses,
And giants who look into their windows and seeing them
Like foxes and sword fish in zoetropes,
Turning around with their arms raised
And laughing
Exulting in the showers of the sun, their noses bleeding
From the altitude,
And kissing like magnets on refrigerators, and always mothers
To be
Conceptualizing their children across the mowed grass
As the busses turn around like chartreuse butterflies
So far down beneath them, and in front of
A school their souls will never attend.