The Car With Electric Doors Poem by Robert Rorabeck

A kindergarten steps to the clouds and accepts an applause
While baseball happens beneath her—
The usual boys kicking up the skirts of red diamonds—
As the traffic sounds around the old battlements,
And the knights who are their fathers are coming
Home from quests—
And whatever joy that this is can also be mistaken for
A mad epiphany, but I do not know if it will do any good—
There they are, lining the roads captured by gravity:
Laundromats—and little places to meet:
A pieta I remember happening inside the carport
Where my mother was electrocuted half-hazzardly
She leaned down and caressed a frog:
It wasn't her child and it didn't change her or itself,
But was beautiful for a little while—
As she knelt, looking just about eighteen,
Next to the car with electric doors.