Never Wish To See Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If the sun chirps, it is chirruping in
Spanish stirrups,
But it doesn’t: it whistles, making its rounds,
Swinging its phalanxes of missing keys-
All it is a head banishing the light:
The sky is not its house.
The moon is not its wife- What is the sun
But a father of world it has no business in,
Penetrating,
Stimulant and spurious it has created a child
It does not know flooding like busy and
Angry ants beneath it,
As it purveys blind and gallant all that it would
Never wish to see.