While In The Sky Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Blue wood:
He says he made it for my mother,
But I can tell he is lying:
He chanced upon it,
Or he stole it- and it is not for her:
It is for him-
But the carport is for her,
Barefooted- the open chord, orange-
Throated,
Will sting her lying there in Pieta-
And that will be her grotto
That he rents,
But not for her:
And when it rains, the canals will
Overspill,
And her children will come and go-
At first from elementary and
Then from high school,
And the heavens will linger for
A little while in the sky-
And he will say they are for her,
But I am sure they are not even his to give away.