Photograph from publicdomainpictures.net
“the roosters brace their cruel feet and glare
with stupid eyes
while from their beaks there rise
the uncontrolled, traditional cries.
Deep from protruding chests
In green-gold medals dress,
Planned to command and terrorize the rest,
The may wives
Who lead hens’ lives
Of being courted and despised . . . “
Rooster by Elizabeth Bishop from The Complete Poems, 1927 – 1979
♦
The family patriarch was a big man
A big crude rude red rooster of a man
With cock’s comb of jet that wilted
In the golden glow of an honest sun
He wrapped anger around himself in the way
Of a frail, old woman with her shawl
His boom and blather made the girl shiver
Like the surface of a pond brushed by a cold, dark wind
♦
In a closet big enough to live in
He greedily gathered his props and indulgences
Things like wine, whisky, Cherry Herring
Nine wallets, six gold watches, and a money safe
Seven packages each of tee shirts and underwear
He grew fat and aggressive on rich, flesh foods and alcohol
He rode a big car smelly as a camel’s belch
And parking, made sure to intrude on his neighbor’s good grace
♦
He thought himself a “man’s man” and
Kept the women in their places, as defined by him
He whipped the elder son into nervous abandon
Trying to craft him into a clone and a validation
To keep the upper hand, he pitted his boys against each other
He drove the iron wedge of his insecurities between his sons and their wives
When he laughed, girls were sure to cry
♦
In his service business, women were “broads”
And there were codes for the others
Seven was for “Spic”
Six was for “Nigger”
Five was for “Sand-Nigger,” like the girl
He didn’t even know some derive, not from the desert, but
From seaside and from mountains crowned with snow and cedar
♦
Time passes, life changes, the rooster lost his peck
The wife, grown hard, rules the roost and the rooster
And a “broad” ran credibly to be her party’s presidential nominee
A “seven” is an astronaut
A “six” is a U.S. President
A “five” is a governor
The girl never thought she’d see the day . . .
♦
As for the crude rude red rooster
He just did what most of us mostly do
He gave what he got
What his father gave him
What his father gave him
What his father gave him
Going back generation on generation
It’s human nurture, not human nature
