Defiant Old Men

I'm still going through the prose poems from 20 years ago. Here's one I particularly like, as I'm slowly becoming one of those defiant old men myself. I'm not as lively as they are in this poem--lots of creaks and groans as I'm stumbling out of bed in the morning.

TEN OLD MEN CHANTING

Long 'o' and 'e' words rise in my throat on a day
like this, wet and warm in mid-winter. The snow
is heavy, and these words--green and tight as poplar
twigs--have their own earth weight. A crow flying
over gives the 'o' sound praise, and the chickadee
gives praise to the 'e'.

These are the vowels of the earth, that go on
breathing after death, floating in abandoned
dictionaries like proud old men who have given up
nothing, and move about their huts chanting the
old words loudly, lively and defiant in their praise.

(Copyright 2007, Allan Cooper)