Third Birthday
Until I was three I had a pet rabbit.
For a long time
I took him everywhere with me.
He was made of felt
and stood upright
tall and thin
holding a bright orange carrot
in front
of his yellow chest.
I held him by his ears
which were dark green like his back.
And then
my mother decreed he had become
too shabby, too dirty
to be my constant companion.
A wash did not improve
his appearance too successfully.
So he became my sleeping partner
and I still loved him as much.
And then
for my third birthday
he was allowed
to come to tea.
I was sick,
too much cake,
my mother said.
I was sick
all over
my pet rabbit.
And then
he disappeared.
No one knew where.
“He’s gone,”
they said
hippy hop.
I never saw him again.


Popular posts from this blog