The Bunny Hop Problem 

In 1963, or 4.

I was a little boy but I was also a middle-aged woman.

Is this still a problem?

There I was in the line 

the Spring Pageant! of the grade school,

classes over and at last this happy, nervous

excited 2nd grade class performance to do for everybody. 

I was there! in the fresh, clean, combed-hair line 
with all the other bunny hoppers onstage
in our matching blue and yellow shirts and pants

the other bunnies waving at their parents

the summer about to start and 

the future wide open.

Then I saw my mother, glaring; sour, better, sarcastic

(my mother, as George Carlin, or a priest)

at all of it.

We made eye contact, and I fell right in

to the role

not the bunny role

and I said, about the pageant, so they could all hear, 

especially her: 

"Well, THIS is dumb."

They all heard it, especially her

and she approved of it, 

like I knew she would. 

I was still in the bunny hop line 

and all the way out of it too. 

But Summer began, even though the other bunnies

heard me, and their futures were still wide open.

Mother took me home. 

To our sour but a little smarter

apartment; Hamburger Helper, Kennedy

books, dead relative photos on the wall and 
bug spray in the air. 

So, hop like a bunny
with the bunnies, or
sleepwalk the syndrome to 
Stockholm? 

Is this still a problem? 

Oh baby, let me count the ways. 

But my nose is twitching like a bunny rabbit. 
And the mother? With the Kennedys.
The bug spray got her.