Hoopoe

Who remembers my dentist father

Now that even his patients are dead.

A hoopoe pecks at the sodden ground

Beside the latched gate, on which is hung

A rusted signboard with his name and

Clinic hours, the letters illegible

And getting more so. Like a spark

Of fire in the air, the hoopoe’s

Vanished into the trees, leaving the patch

Of earth a little dark where it came

Looking for grubs. It’s been raining.

We belong to the houses we live in.