Rooster’s dead.
Been dead for an age, ain’t comin’ back.
Still, first crack, feel that pavement shake,
them powerline pulses, oak bark fingers crickin’ the dust from their joints.
‘n up Moses gets, puts on his flag pin,
‘n lumbers on out to the soap box.
He stands there a long minute,
findin’ words in his old rusted bridges,
ideas down is dusty pot-holed routes.
“We got work, ‘n we got food, they’re just waitin’”
He’s silent another moment.
It ain’t what he meant to say,
ain’t it at all.
Every sunrise, every one, same songs.
He shakes his head ‘n waves ’em westward.
Sundown, they reach the sea.
Moses takes himself a staff and slams it to ground.
The sea parts and washes ’em all back.
Moses wraps his train-track lips around that I’m sorry–
no one will ever hear.
‘n back they all go to sleep.
God laughs ‘n laughs ‘n laughs.
Rooster’s dead.
Been dead for an age, ain’t comin’ back.
