Wild Bunny

The light was hazy

along the oak-lined sidewalks

as if dust had settled in the sunlight

but plants were green as fresh lettuce

so that gardens and lawns

looked impossibly ripe when I saw

a rabbit with orca markings

nibbling on some grass,

its short ears rounded like tulip leaves

and I wondered what a little, house bunny was doing loose

in someone’s yard and maybe I should call someone

because they missed their little Flopsy or Carrot,

but I stopped

because I didn’t want to see the rabbit caged,

hopping around newspaper shreddings and sucking from a plastic bottle,

no, I wanted the rabbit to wander on grass,

nibble thin stalks,

its black fur glossy and its white fur sleek,

scent of rose blossoms like silk scarves flying through the air,

caressing the nostrils and

I wanted the rabbit to be wild again

though nothing is wild in suburban yards

except perhaps for black and white bunnies

on the loose.