While Brushing My Teeth in the Outhouse

9 pm
casually are teeth brushed
the bristles sweeping lazy arcs
minty foam bubbles tingle
soft gums, then spat
pale globules into the toilet
a cricket serenades me
invisible, hidden in the cracked
cement or perhaps resting
on the shelf above me
the handle bar depresses
sending water swirling down
flowing off into sewer pipes
so precious here, filtered
purified, chilled, served
next week in a German restaurant
on Independence Avenue
short walk to the house
even in Katutura the Milky Way
blazes like a cow spine
bleached in the sun

7 am
we don't really have backyard
roosters in America, this one
crows dawn into being
at 5 and trumpets the sun
rising for hours afterward
ignored only for so long
before morning outhouse
rituals demand performance
the foam smoothes night
off of teeth and tongue
while doves coo and scratch
grating toenails across the corrugated
metal roof, a hen clucks
at the ground outside the door
squawks indignantly when
it is kicked open at her
too bad it missed
I can only hope a dignitary
visits for afternoon tea
and graciously stays for dinner