The Mysterious Rabbits and the Flowered Pole

Every morning on my way to work

My truck rang by that telephone pole and

I looked for rabbits in the ditch.

Once, while looking for rabbits, I saw a cat shredding a robin

In the gully packed with rocks and sand that cradled the pole.

The pole was dressed up every day with flowers

That did not wilt. Three-quarters of a year I

Drove past that pole looking at the ground for rabbits,

Not noticing the flowers

I did see rabbits once.

I counted nine in all gathering around the adorned pole

Like a party. It seemed as if they were dancing

To rabbit music, and although I rushed past in my truck,

I imagined tiny instruments,

The drum, bugle, and xylophone.

The rushes blew like streamers

In the morning glories on the backside of the gully

Shown like party-lights in the morning sun.

The music was lively but soft

And the flowers on the pole freshened the air

Along the humming road.

That night, on my way home from work,

I stopped near the pole. It was dark and

A breeze slipped through the rushes

Like a chorus of snakes.

I took my flashlight into the gully

Hoping for rabbits. No rabbits.

No music, party lights, or leftover cake.

Nothing but flowers tied to the pole

And a note that said: “For a lost child.”

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