Boy With The Head Of A Hare

I met a boy with the head of a hare,

waistcoat, knee breeches, powder white whiskers 

that would wiggle in profile, debonair.

His white gloved hand twined in mine, through snickers 

and stares, we race through  wrought iron gates 

of the village at dusk.  They will tell tales of

the two of us, speculating our fate

his anatomy — an imagined love-

child of ignominy who might be the 

gold teeny bunny with strange sapphire eyes

who stalks the gardens of a family 

I now despise.  His ears pivot towards lies 

as he whisks me into a hole somewhere 

to love a boy with the head of a hare. 


Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Rhysling nominated sonneteer and a Best of the Net 2020 finalist.  Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of 23 books of poetry including Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (Hedgehog Poetry Press) and Atheist Barbie (Maverick Duck Press). She is the founder of Pink Plastic House a tiny journal and co-founder of Performance Anxiety, an online poetry reading series. Follow her on Twitter:  (@lolaandjolie) and her website kristingarth.com

Categories: Poetry

Daily Drunk

Shawn Berman runs The Daily Drunk. You can follow him on Twitter @Sbb_writer.

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