April 1

Rabbit, Rabbit

Usually I'm on the can, or scrambling
eggs, when I remember being seven,
my teacher telling me to say "Rabbit, Rabbit"
on the first day of the month, before
my feet touch the floor when I get
out of bed. And of course my instep
has creaked the floorboards long since:
no luck for me in Feburary, or March, or now
April. Sometimes, when the calendar hits the twenty-
fifth (or so), I'll think I'll say it this time,
but I haven't mentioned rabbits in thirty years, just wondered
why I care, now that I know that words
disappoint. Comets depart and return, meteors
shower, Fermat's Last Theorem all pass
and still no rabbits. Why two? Perhaps the bunny
is named Rabbit, like a John Updike antihero
who understands the cosmos, who brings luck.
Indeed, why rabbits? I see the drawback
of, say, "Sloth, Sloth," but why not "Hippo, Hippo"
or "Cheetah, Cheetah?" Is it a cultural thing?
Do Chinese kids forget to say "Panda, Panda?"
Would I understand better if I Googled?
Would I acquaint myself with that auspicious hare
who got this whole thing started, who makes
me scream "Rats" every year on the first
(or sometimes I don't notice until the second)?
I no longer expect a good month, just discipline:
if I can't say "Rabbit, Rabbit," how will I ever lose
forty pounds, or climb Kilimanjaro?
It's a small victory I wish to trumpet,
under the sheets one morning as the moon
takes another pass and the cars start
in the vast city that I inhabit. I relish
the spell I'll cast: "Rabbit, Rabbit."