C'est Basse

Evasive smell, nose like a net,
ears to trip over. He waddles

Like a penguin tripping over
inferior cactus leaves.

Purposeful clumsiness, his bays
fading in and out along the hum of bluepurple sky

The big boots with the soles
that know the feeling of misplaced tails

And patches of facial hair
that answer back with every bay.

But the rabbit got away. The big boots
were furious, patches turned argyle

His drooped face and short legs
conveyed deceptive disappointments.

If he had wanted the rabbit so badly,
he wouldn't have barked in the first place.