A rooster crows in the dark of morn. My thoughts of him are dark as well. I can find something to throw at him or I can throw something over my head.
I know its too late, the chorus already begun. Perhaps I can still get those two winks still beckoning, but the wicked bird sees through my walls and shatters all that remains of nocturnal bliss.
I fumble for the switch and stub my toe, vocalizing my then unsavory thoughts.
Kahuku the Red, wanders by and calls in the noon hour and its all I can do to remember, twas not he.
(Kahuku the rooster is central to another story)
Papanui the Storyteller
Aaron T Watene
July 16, 2009
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