Lagomorph Blanking

An old friend in the Service called me up--
said she's trading her anti-social cat in
for a rabbit, wanted some advice, knew who to call.
I commended her decision to ditch the finicky feline
while down-playing the fact that my rabbit
wants nothing to do with me most times.

"She's very independent," I told her through two states.
"It's on her terms." It always is, really.

She proceeded to inform me that in Tokyo
or some other Japanese city that we didn't blow up
they now all have rabbits for pets and let them have free range
of their homes like I have here for years, half-way around the globe.

"An innovator," my mind proclaimed to itself
well aware that I've never had one original idea
in twenty-six years. By the time my friend hung up
I'd built myself up to genius status
right there alongside the Greats.

She wouldn't call again for years
and that was fine, just fine.
Men of my caliber have schedules to keep.

------

Somewhere on a sun-drenched island in the Pacific
a roomful of yawning Asians work their hands like mad
to produce a plastic contraption invented here in the States
and perfected, productionwise, overseas. The shareholders in that
factory feel the same false pride in their actions as I do in mine
and the Yin and the Yang remain balanced enough for the world
to keep on spinning towards the bowling pins.

I look through my side window and see
the neighbor's outdoor cat run to hide under the shed
as a galoot in green and white with a cigarette dangling downward
wanders about the yard in search of something unbeknownst.
It makes me wonder if maybe I'm more
of a cat person than I'll ever admit.

Rising to rip the sour sheets off the mattress
I confess that cleanliness and brilliance can never go hand-in-hand.
It's failures like this one that keep me trying, though.