At long last:

So.

There I was in the bunny suit again,
having an out of bunny experience,
seeing my own ears ruffled
by the breeze as I floated above me, lying
there on the tar all flat and freshly
killed.

How many incarnations
had it been — ten, twenty — since
I began this bunny cycle? All were short
and filled with babies and copulation —
and oh, the copulation:
it was a pleasure each time to be born
and see the bunny suit waiting and know
that puberty lay just weeks ahead.

So, there I was in the bunny suit again and
it had ended about the same as always and I
expected to end up back in a bunny suit again
as always when the Director of Lives stuck his head in
and said what I’d been dreading:

“Congratulations! You’ve been promoted.”

Well, how they think this is a promotion is beyond me:
no wiggling nose, no cute tail, at least eleven more years
before they’ll even let me think
about getting busy. No speed, can’t turn on a dime,
no ears to speak of and
if I even look like I want to burrow in the yard
they haul me in and wash me hard enough to scrape the fur off me —
if I did have it, that is.

So
I dream of the bunny suit
and talk to myself about the bunny suit because
I cannot explain the bunny suit to anyone, and
I know from past experience that it’s futile and
any day now, I will forget it ever happened —

except, maybe,
when
I run.

About Tony Brown

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A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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