I’ve been gnawing this leg off
for years. You made
your trap, now lie in it.

You lie. He lies. She lies.
We lie. Half the double
beds in America will one day spring

shut with these steel teeth—
& kids get caught in the mangle.
Driven frantic, I worry my own

anklebone, while the hunter
draws his bead. Once
he chased me for sport, for my soft

pelt, his words like snares. Now
it’s murder. Around
and around the court we go,

ridiculous as Elmer Fudd
with his blunderbuss—I’ll get you,
you wascawy wabbit—except

that Bugs had no bunnies.