Last Mojito, The

Pecking Order

70 THE LAST MOJITO Pecking Order Pecking, always pecking— That same striking sound At the kitchen window Or on the frozen ground. Just listen, if you will, To the nick, pick, tap Of it all morning long, Each dreary afternoon, And long into the evening— A lingering little ping From which you cannot escape. Hear its steady beat Repeat a familiar rhythm— Silent music of retreat, Turning you off the street Where you thought you lived. And it never ceases To leave its stressful mark On every member of the band— This group that measures success By its own sweet duress. ...