i see you. despite your preference for armor.

we don’t shake hands or exchange glances.

you sit. i shift bench, to planter, back next to you on bench.

waiting, we both listen to the boasting and blustering of fellow roosters.

you’re discouraged too.

i wish my sadness looked as pretty on me.

doors open, off to work.

i make silent, secret wish that, someday, you’re the hotdog of our henhouse.