Rabbit-Whispers

The wind can bend its poplars
Bend no spokes of mine
The watery rattle of your alley leaves,
My stickleback without a spine
Because you're all class
Some soft day rabbitskin-hunter
On whom the flavour of rosewater clings
Under whose eaves
The touch of the hayseed I chew
Twitches with the tenderness
Of a rabbit's whiskers
I once knew
 

(c) Maeve Lonie.  All Rights Reserved.

Maeve Lonie is a nineteen-year-old arts student at Otago. She has been teetering up on stage to read poetry at Glottis readings fairly frequently since doing John Dolan's paper.