rabbit-light:

  



I’m a silly rabbit, or so my skinny love assumes.
Actually, I’m a bent stop sign tilted in the yard
Of a house at the bottom of a cul-de-sac. The only house
Still standing after the birth defects and the protests. A gabled house,
With post-WW II horizontal windows. Rosettes of brown crab grass
In the yard. The lasso of an old hose lain out on the cracked dirt
Beneath the single small ash tree. Leaves cling
To the twigs like bits of paper air planes. The house is quiet
In the quiet of the hot suburban afternoon. A single light
Burns low day and night. There is a scraping sound coming
From the garage. The brown aluminum garage door
Has been raised a few inches. Dark hovers on the smooth
Concrete just visible. How did I get here,
I wonder? When I sleep in the afternoon,
The sun pinging off my dented red hexagon, I dream
A dog somewhere deep inside the dark cool garage,
Is chewing on a rabbit’s foot. Skinny love,
Why am I whispering?

Ronnie Yates