French Rabbits - Poem by Hans Ostrom
Rabbits greeted our airplane in Paris.
On grass between tarmac strips, they
looked like brown pockets plump
with tobacco and francs. They
moved cautiously, as if we
were hungry or German. Some
of them were shopkeepers, worried
and energetic like Balzac’s people.
Others were grand in their
miniature arrogance, standing
on hind legs like DeGaul, looking
down and up at once, saluting the sun.
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