The Prettiest Girl In Class Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Waking up in the carport of her
Grotto: my mother with the lazy eyes the night
Tattoos -
Where has my father gone, with the spectators up
In the fruit trees
Down the rows that my muse used to live in-
And now words smoking in bowling alleys with too
Much green beer-
And the way that sometimes a few unicorns light
Up the night like neon,
And the tadpoles grow new legs and folklore
As you find yourself sitting beside the girl you think
Is the prettiest girl in class,
And she is looking at you like your father with
Approving eyes.