Laura Kasischke

Our rooster’s name is Ivan.
He rules the world.
He stands on a bucket to assist
the sun in its path
through the sky. He
will not be attending
the funeral, for God

has said to Ivan, You
will never be sick
or senile. I’ll
kill you with lightning
or let you drown. Or

I’ll simply send
an eagle down
to fetch you when you’re done.

So Ivan stands on a bucket
and looks around:

The pitiful
cornflakes in their bowls.
The statues of their fascists.
The insane division of their cells.
The misinterpretations
of their bibles.Their
homely combs— and,

today, absurdly, their
crisp black clothes.

But Ivan keeps his thoughts
to himself, and crows.

Photo by David Brooke Martin on Unsplash