The End Of The Story For Girls Who Are No More Than Three Feet Tall Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Teardrops from the armpits of an airplane.
Do not complain if you have been forgetting to cry about me.
I am right here, in the crèche of the evergreens
While my mother in law is whispering about me
And taking care of my two children—
I can see you suppliant, child-like-no more than
Three feet tall. Just as I saw you in the flea market yesterday—
I have been selling things that are not real underneath the sun.
Will I see you tomorrow? Or will these words continue to
Go as they are thrown, as the feed for chickens—
Mindlessly shopping for greeting cards with rainbows
While all of the unicorns are kidnapped—
And will this then be the end of the story for girls who
Are no more than three feet tall