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John came downstairs heavily
            As it was growing light and
                        Shut behind him the screen door
And went shivering out into
            The yard where nothing had yet
                        Moved and crossed barefoot
To the passage between the barn
            And the outer wall of the
                        House and with his arms shaking
And his gut coiled crossed
            To the outhouse, and closed
                        The half-hinged door behind him.
He unbuckled his belt with
            Slow cold hands and sat and
                        Recoiled at the seat on his
Skin and then he breathed
            In and then he commenced
                        To shit, and he breathed out.
He could hear doves calling
            Through the woods and the
                        Moan of low wind and the trees.
His bowels growled.
            When he went back up to
                        The house he would break into
A pan five eggs and grill
            Some toast and drink a cold
                        Glass of milk and swill it all
In his mouth grease and grit
            And curds and then wash his
                        Face outside in the frozen cistern.