Waiting for a Knock

Under gray-coat weather I wake
to a woodpecker knocking
on my cabin's eastern wall.
With a mug of hot tea I sit down

with the radio-lady and think on winding
the clock. I want the ditch-water day
to go away but it insists on hauling
garbage, running the train through town,

delivering the mail, barking the dog,
running the train back the other way.
I wind the clock, pour a glass of wine
and get in touch with my inner fence post.

The fog goes dark and I sit down
with the radio-lady and wait
for the woodpecker to start knocking
on my cabin's eastern wall.