Purple Bunny Count Poem by Ted Sheridan

She always seemed as if she
needed someone to save her
from a goddess’s self destruction.
She could mirror some of the most
beautiful women in the world;
or she could make ugly
in three words or less.
Regardless of how much one spent
no man ever amounted to more
than chump change, mixed with pocket lint.
She would color her graying hair
and paint her sharp acrylic nails
while she warmed her cold body
in the sunshine of her perfect garden….
___always keeping a watchful eye peeled
for that 13th bunny;
the one with tracks in his arm
and harboring a lighter and a spoon for her safe keeping….

2008 © TS