Little Bunny Foo Foo

Wednesday, April, a school day,

In those days when the father

Still had his glass of OJ

And a hamburger patty,

No bun, for breakfast, then took

A tall, enormous thermos

Full of sweet, milky coffee

Out to the garage and drove

To the shop he owned, to work,

While the mother assembled

The four children, four through nine,

Into the station wagon,

To take three of them to school—

Circuitously, detours

To pick up other children

Here and there along the way—

So that the wagon was packed

With kids for the Baptist school.

The children arranged themselves

By genders and by friendships,

The two oldest girls squeezed in

The unsafe space between back

And middle seats, face to face,

Knees to knees, playing their games

Involving elaborate

Hand-clapped rhythms and nonsense

Chants that they would remember

Better than their route to school

Or classmates, or their classes

Down the long decades of days,

Picking up the field mice

And bopping them on the head.