My sister is going blind so she built a barn,
fenced her 11 acres and adopted two wild horses,
one white, the other spotted brown and cornsilk.
My sister is going blind, meanwhile she posts perfect
shots of her high-spirited steeds on social media
as they tromp and circle her land.
There are many typos and misspellings
in her ramblings. I struggle to understand
her but she doesn’t care one flake
of a red pepper if I approve. She is slowly going
blind. As far back as I remember
she’s done whatever she wanted and gives a snarly
‘go to hell’ if you don’t like it. In grade school
she pushed me in front of a slow-rolling Mercury
station wagon to see if I would disappear.
She used to slyly escape from her bedroom window
and slide into the bucket seat of some bad boy’s
Barracuda. Like crazed teenaged cheetahs they galloped
the main drag and guzzled stolen sangria.
Once she swiped 400 bucks from me. She disclaims it
but I stopped bitching about it last October.
Soon my sister will be blind. She might be able to discern
the blink-blink of Christmas lights or the stubbles
of a hay bale in the sun. She’ll recognize the white mare
by the pounding of its hooves on the trampled meadow,
the speckled mare by the velvety feel of her snout,
the high pitch of her mid-morning whinny.