COCK-A-DOODLE-DO ©

The neighbor's rooster lives one day at a time
and each day he rises an hour too early.
All the neighboring cocks have to have the last crow
until Grandma is called up from the creaking springs.
She steps cold‑tempered across the wooden floor
with the ache of blue‑veined, spatulate feet.

There is no room to watch her.
Grandma uses up the kitchen
as she swings around to build the fire.
Soon corncobs crackle loudly in the cast‑iron stove
with flashes of quick, white pops
reheating the water to lukewarm in the closet.

They say Grandfather was a tall man.
But now he stoops to the water in the basin.
He is as gnarled as his fingers.
His hands, purple‑veined from the cold
lather up with the Lava.
He throws the water up around his rooster neck.

It's a splash colder than death to his stubble
and a painstakingly, tremulous shave.
His old age is now a film of gray
dirty bubbles in the basin.
He sits liked a stone, waiting for breakfast.
He cocks his neck to break away his eyes
from the crack running the course of the pane.

He admires the grape vines tied to the fence.
Grandma leans over his shoulder
nustles his pink cheek, judges the clouds.
She sees a full day ahead in the clothespins
clipped to the empty wire. As he lifts his fork
Grandma tips the wash water into the pail.