The Hare’s Eyes(For Bud) Poem by Dónall Dempsey

Long before
I knew of Kung-Fu
(and all hares
were rabbits)

we lay stretched out
my uncle & I
pinned to a hillside
the world creating itself
as a little boy
painting it would

all blue sky & fluffy white cloud
green grass
painted just so

...so, perfect.
Birds transforming
the air into song

& here even
a hare
so near
you can see
every hair
in exquisite detail
sitting beside us
as if he was
one of us

as if he was
about to say:
“Good day…lovely day
isn’t it? ”

But before
he could say it
my uncle
moving without moving
(I hardly even saw him
leave his stillness)
Kung-fu’d
the little chap

(only the sound
of a quick slap)
with the anonymous anger
of the back of his hand
both hare
& I

quivering with shock
“Well, boy...
that’s one for the pot! ”
I got sick
with the twist of the neck
my uncle
chortling
popping him
in his pocket.

That night
everyone ate greedily
praised the stew
praised my uncle too.

I
(not hungry)
crying in bed
...still looking into
the hare’s eyes.