Is there any place on this earth
where that damned cock won’t crow?
Once, and all at once pandemonium,
panic sets in, the dogs of war cry
havoc, unleash every sin
of omission, commission, revision, recidivism
While the civilized world,
fuelled by burnt coffee, turns its foamy tricks,
one, serving, asks for a name. I am not Peter,
no rock, but Aquarius.
Water finds its own level,
moulds itself to any cupped hand
Denial leaks dirty brown staining,
smearing my misspelt name. I need to find
that strutting bird before it strikes a second time
While Peter was below in the courtyard, one of the servant-girls of hte high priest came by. When she saw Peter warming himself, she stared at him and said, “You also were with Jesus, the man from Nazareth.” But he denied it, saying, “I do not know or understand what you are talking about.” And he went out into the forecourt. Then the cock crowed. And the servant-girl, on seeing him, began again to say to the bystanders, “This man is one of them.” But again he denied it. Then after a little while the bystanders again said to Peter, “Certainly you are one of them; for you are a Galilean.” But he began to curse and he swore an oath, “I do not know this man you are talking about.” At that moment the cock crowed for a second time. Then Peter remembered that Jesus had said to him, “Before the cock crows twice, you will deny me three times.” And he broke down and wept. (Mark 14:66-72)