ELMER'S WORLD

a squat squinting chap, rifle in hand,
trudged like a chunky old spud
through thick oozing mudflats
from garden to garden in the dark night,
targeting a long-eared crop stealing thief,
a scoundrel who burrows and hops
leaving the lone runt of a hunter
downcast bereaved.

bewildered, befuddled, beaten down,
but not beguiled one bit
by the
drip
drip
drip
dripping of daily annoyances and
those no--account nit-picking
neighbors of nuisance, Fudd
found some small shred of solace
in browbeating and buttfucking,
essentially buggering ‘Bugs’ good,
the wascally wabbit whose gray
fuzzy felt nose was forever nestled
in deep soil, moving through fenced
plots of dirt like a greedy reader
librarians love or a trucker toiling
on speed Sunday drivers hate, sniffing
and snorting the yellow-orange high
in vitamin A good for your eyes,
(for a fresh crunchy one he’d give you his hare shirt)
garden variety cocaine commonly called carrots.

Living low, close to ground zero,
made Elmer feel bugged, envious of heroes
a low groaning grumble in his mind droned on--
a sticky second hand smoke which
stunk up his house, his thirsty third wife
and her porky smooth pink skin
like a stumbling drunk with yellow fingers
on a wobbly 2 a.m. barstool.

One windy eve on his wayward walk home
after several or more tonics and gin,
he met his nemesis the rabbit down
on the curb, heard how the carrot crop
had withered and vanished from an unusual late frost.
Elmer’s enemy looked almost human
in that strange rare moment of straight honest talk
and with no further ado into his cottage
did the two walk for a post-midnight snack
of barley and cabbage and a frosty cold one,
from that moment on Mr. Fudd still stubby
yet now un-befuddled, in tipsy epiphany
found suddenly true blue an unsoiled agape,
this selfless, unspoiled love of one bunny.