the busy hens

the ice man
with his horse. his
old
chestnut
horse,
sagging under the weight
of blocks
of ice
squeaks up the street.
his wagon
worn
and splintered.
the wheels in need of repair.
the early morning is coolest
to deliver
the ice.
he whistles.
unbothered
by his task.
people need ice. what
would they do without me.
the drinks
not cold?
he snaps the reins and up
and over
the hills he goes.
waving
and nodding to the egg man,
the paper
boy,
the roosters crowing,
the busy
hens.