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.