The crow of a cock through the all night
wide-open window
a day so still, late summer hissing in the ear
like sea swoosh captured in a shell
that boastful brag, attention-seeking
cockadoodle call.
It’s village India first, flat-out beneath the fan
clack-clacking
carried on the woodsmoke mixed-spice air
then clever as a Russian doll
Babushka peeled, revealed,
neighbourhood rooster, francophone
hence cocorico call
from student years, fast fading.
And at its core, Babushka’s baby
my childhood home, scent of pine
wood pigeons on repeat
salt and sea swoosh
crow of cock through the all night
wide-open window.
27th August 2020, Hounoux
