Trash Bunny’s Worst Christmas

Lost animal of Christmas past,

with faded felt belly

frozen in grief to the sidewalk.

Floppy ears conceal eyes

too ashamed to face

the ashen depth of the fall.

Deprived of a sheltering black bag,

she lies exposed, less than garbage.

Discarded cords, old homework,

and a Disney Store bag from 2007

press against the slack form on three sides.

Her tired pelt casts shadows on jigsaw mats

that are not useful, not even fun.

Who used to love you?

Who tossed you aside?

Who remembers the morning

your child shredded the wrapping paper,

(decapitating a dozen printed snowmen)

and grabbed you from the box

hugging you with aggressive joy?

Where is your former perch

on a bunk bed or cedar chest?

You never chose this street, this corner, this end.

Nobody asked if you were done with love.

When I see the patchwork bow on your neck,

my ribs tighten in pain.

The pale hearts, flowers, and stripes

in green, yellow, and a hint of purple

are too faint to palliate

this heap of hopelessness.

But the colours found me, your witness, your friend.

Let’s sit together until the truck comes.