It’s late afternoon,
I’m drinking my tea.
I hear Tucker Carlson
on my TV.
Through the breakfast room window
I see something moving,
and I hear Tucker asking
why I hate Putin.
In the yard,
it’s a rabbit—no, two.
No, it’s four,
four white bunnies
munching on grass.
What’s Putin done to you,
Tucker Carlson asks,
Will Putin raise your taxes…
so on and so on, over and over
and the rabbits sit twitching
and nibbling at clover.
Those Democrats, says Tucker,
they're still sore about Clinton.
They blame Putin for that
and the rabbits
are still hopping and nibbling at grass.
Tucker’s still asking
why I hate Putin;
oh gee, I dunno...
Polonium, Politkovskya…
let’s start with the P’s
and don’t even mention
Litvinenko to me.
Then there’s Chechnya, Crimea—that’s just the C’s—
And now Russian soldiers
are spreading through Ukraine
like a chemical agent
spreads through the veins.
The Putin machine
is running non-stop
and Vlad marches on
between the raindrops.
The rabbits are still munching
and nibbling on grass,
and Tucker makes fistfuls,
pulling them out of his—hat.
I love bunny rabbits,
brown, black or white;
I love men of courage.
Men who live by the light.
And I hate Vladimir Putin—
I hate to admit it
but Tucker is right;
rest in peace, Alexander,
you fought the good fight.
It’s late afternoon.
The TV's still on.
Through the window I see
all the rabbits are gone.
Clouds moving in.
Sky's turning gray—
where will the rabbits
go when it rains—
where are they, I wonder,
as the sky starts to darken,
and why am I watching
that #%$& Tucker Carlson.