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Rabbit
All the windows are mirrors and cameras
filming her entry into the clear bright air
in the first May she's felt worthy of Spring.
The birds are singing for her. The sweet scrapings
from the high air are probably a lark's.
Star-like, she settles herself on the grass
midway between the myrtle and white camellia.
She's reading Keats's “Ode to a Nightingale”
when a white rabbit flops out of the rhododendron,
tastes the green scene languorously.
It's going to be one of those whimsical days,
she thinks and addresses the rabbit,
Where are your gloves, white rabbit, and where is your fan?
And where is the great dark hole we'll both fall in?
The eyes of the windows watch the silent rabbit
as the skinny girl writes in her diary
Lost six pounds this week. Saw a white rabbit.
This poem was published in Obsessed with Pipework No 44 2008. It will appear in Looking Good Shoestring 2009.)
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