My Better Looking Sister Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I feed the raccoon snake eyes and
Cat food,
Because its eyes are so patchy I can relate and
Call it beautiful,
Because I have a redneck cousin who always
Calls me Robbie the raccoon,
Because of the corpuscles of blood around
The eyes,
The scars of a sick valentine masks,
Those same old things which make me relate to the
Harem of shadows which
Grow each and every night,
Which make me pop out these pregnant things
Like fat salmon streaming their
Row upstream:
And I could be a gunfighter,
And I could rob banks;
In fact, I am almost dead tonight:
In fact, I am so drunk off another man’s gin
That I am just about to go one block south and swing
On the black man’s swings,
To make myself a champion,
To make the entire Milky Way swing with my darkly
Sunken arcs,
Like a Russian submarine escaping or a matinee
Movie;
I sing these things, the pale orchid coming above ground
Under the gibbous moon while my better looking
Sister and beautiful husband are sleeping.