[or, 'Sisterhood']

My sister crosses her ankles and stretches:
movie night is over with her scattering
of pizza crusts, my warmed over beer
and a Mexican wave of yawning.

She is sixteen: typicality in teenage years,
marred only by her love of motorbikes
- the ones that won't ever stay upright -
and the persistent skimming of her eyes
over one female video store clerk.

She fancies herself an enigma and I feel,
far too often these days, that I am getting
awkwardly old: lacking the erudition
to communicate any understanding.
Because in the reality of these days,
I realise, I don't possess it.

a/n: Written off the cuff while 'babysitting' but I feel like it's the most cohesive piece I've written lately. Still having issue with the form and I hate the title, so any thoughts on that?