The Rabbits of Your Affection

I remember hearing once in a class,

Or reading in a tattered dime-store Western,

or both,

That a man could starve to death eating rabbits.

No matter how many black-tipped jacks or

Small, plump cottontails one caught

If that was all he ate, there was not enough fat

To keep his body alive.

And, as I sit here under the old oak tree in the park

Writing and watching you harangue passers-by

To pick up their trash or put a leash on their dog,

I feel myself slowly wasting away

On the rabbits of your affection.