you ever snatch a bit of courage
out of a rabbit’s jaw?
twixt cloven clovers chewed to the root
and
thick thistles crammed tight ‘tween milk-sipping,
          milkvetch-munching molars.
 
as a child, who wasn’t sure that they could learn
          the rabbit words?
take on that rabbit skull, tiny foot bones, trembling ribs,
say the word for terror.
where are your
          whiskers?
shake with sense that the world was designed
to confine and consume you.
what a conceit
to think
your fear and helpless, peaceful fists are to protect the world from you.
 
but
if they’d just remember—
the Prince of the warrens
was a thief and not a warrior,
and
he had wits for blades and blades for brains.