Bunny’s Modest Proposal
One problem is there are people everywhere you look on the street
who I bet could use a good meal, and another is all of these rats
all over the parks, that scurry where you used to see squirrels,
so why don’t we ask some of the chefs in our multi-starred restaurants
for tasty ways to prepare them?
Boy Scouts could trap thousands every day, the homeless could have jobs
getting them ready for broiling or sautéing,
and someone from Madison Avenue could find
a French name or something Norwegian with a lot of umlauts so they’ll sound
appetizing, and at least two of our civic problems would be solved at once!
Bunny in the Maelstrom
Well, I was at the club, trying to work off the 8 pounds I gained over the holidays –
from last Christmas to this Thanksgiving – and I climbed I don’t know how many
Empire State Buildings on the Stairmaster –
and finally we were relaxing in the Whirlpool, nice and warm and almost sensual . . .
I was with Stacey my dearest friend in the world and we were filling each other in
on everyone else’s affaires de coeur,
and we’d been in that lovely Whirlpool 30 minutes at least so I felt like Raggedy
Ann, or Gumby, my joints and muscles all Plasticine, when all at once,
just as we were gathering our absolutely
last iotas of strength to step out – up looms this African-American gentleman,
tall and glistening from the shower, in a swimsuit of course, but he begins
to get into the Whirlpool with us!
I mean, how would it look – in this day and age – if we picked just then to leave the Whirlpool?
So we stayed, risking heart failure or stroke or the bends – whatever can happen – for 10 more
minutes, speechless by then from exhaustion –
till we could nod farewell to him and crawl as fast as we were able to the showers.
Maybe we had risked our deaths, or horrible disability, but we were happy to have done
our little part for human relations.