The old rooster pecked
among husks and corn spires
for years and years.
A fighting cock he was,
who let neighbors know things
only cocks would know.
He evaded death until yesterday,
and just before I took his head off,
the cock’s thoughts became mine:
fear, the stilts of the crib,
a rusted fence. Egg shells.
Pointless pride.
Later, I sat down to thin-boned soup
with blood on my cuffs.
Tim Brennan is a retired educator and UWEC grad whose one-act plays have played across the country.
Eau Claire, WI 54703
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