From The Pool Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Imperfect as a body glorified by the iron struts of
Day:
Selling the heirlooms of Christmas trees:
The traffic causally articulating to the grass along the
Way-
Playing a Mexican card game with two friends of
Mine,
Pining for that muse who allowed me to use her
Body one too many times
To only be friends: because I would buy her things and
Then look the other way,
While the night was a castle building up to stay
And looking down across the miniature panoply across
The roof of her house,
Burning in imperfect estuaries- crowded by other
Mexicans and minorities-
Brutal games in the park for years before school,
Played by women and her sisters who are
Causally beautiful,
And as voluptuous as vixen and serpents,
Just stepping out of the movie theatre, just glistening from the pool.