The Sister Who Could Never Be Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In the places that so pretend to be—
As an after-thought, it is where the best of the littlest
Boys pretend to live:
Yes, they are here, in the armpits of the sieves of
Goldmines:
Yes, they are here sleeping while yawning,
While better hopes jumps like frogs for golden shadows,
And the moon bends:
Yes, it arcs the sea, and other mermaids go home off
Their shifts,
And the waves beckon cajolingly,
Like a perversion of the senses in which you were
Taught to believe:
This is the way that it happens, that it all gets off
Track one way or another—
And the places we one pretended to make love in just
So happen to light up again,
And you swim in the shadows,
Pretending to be caressing the shoulders of the
Sister who could never be.