In Them

Another promenade of a sorority,
Bringing out their show around their water fountains,
Preening and attempting their peonies—
They love their football teams—
Entire parking lots of them,
And there elbows bend away like the hemisphere—
Growing through the stained glass of the churches
Of their universities—
To end up as trophy wives—
Somehow there are too many of them to number,
And they sing together in the afternoon on
Weekends—
They know nothing of astronomy, yet they are up there—
Like vanishing pictures in the coloring books
Of girls who are too old now to find
Any understanding in them at all.

poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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