The Rabbit on The Lawn

 

In through the window, the first blades of sun

Bleed onto the matted carpet like the wounds of the winter just gone.

I sit on the bed, stuck still,

Frozen as ice that is yet to be thawed

By the summer’s furnace burning, relit and rekindled.

 The house’s heating is off,

And with it the world resumes after a six-months’ hibernation.

Slowly, in the morning’s dawn, the winter melts into a puddle on the floor.

 

The white snow-drops shoot out

With the rocket-fuel of the spring’s engine.

The cool spring breeze forces in life

To the plants and trees and birds and leaves

Which move, once more, with a joie-de-vivre.

The birds’ calls summon a frisson of spring

With which the world wakes to the sound.

The smell of spring dew and pollen and haste

Fills the atmosphere with a heavy air with the mildewed notes of springtime angst.

I stir, draw curtains and stare

Out through the window through the balm

And slice the air

With my eyes through which I see the lifeless, lustrous

Rabbit strewn across the lawn.

Shrouded with greying grass and a darkening brown tinge

To the ‘mixy’-struck cadaver.

 

The birdsong grows and stretches

With the cacophony of summer sounds

Emerging with haste:

The hayter revs and splutters,

Chomping the green hairs with a pungent smell that becomes grating

On the nose and in my eyes

They burn with pain and itch

Enticing contaminated hands to rub.

I itch for the frozen winter to return.

The cacophony of sounds freezes me,

Toxic to my unawaken soul

And paralyses me, misophonic.

The hatred of the springtime sound

Riddles me with a shiver.

The dewdrops and the pollen burn my eyes and condense on my face.

God Save Our Gracious Spring.