After Milking Came More Morning Rituals
M
Mark Heathcote
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I recall him at 10.30 with a hearth brush in the fireplace
bent double, brushing out that powdery ash
he'd knock it out sideways with just one sweep
into the middle, humming some Johnny Cash,
You Are My Sunshine I remember small heaps
he'd put aside with coal clinkers interlace
he'd smile when everything was back in place
watching his wife pass with the blue flower vase
that's when the dog returned, showing its gnashes
a lesson learned in avoidance with jolting dashes.
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