Bunny Fur and Spirituality

i met you in a dream
and i'd forgotten your name
i saw you in a window
and you were buying a gift
for someone else

i opened the door for you
as you were leaving
you looked me in the eye
and did not say thank you

you were wearing the scarf
i made you
from the fur my bunnies shed
in the summer

the summer we lived by the lake
and we ran laps around the water
i always beat you in the last lap
because i could sprint
even though my legs were longer
than yours and...
they say the shorter, muscular builds
are better at getting to the finish line faster.
but i always won even though
we weren't racing.
and then i gloated
well into the second helping of dinner,
and sometimes my gloating
cut into the key lime pie for dessert.

but i think you secretly liked
my obvious ego because it made
you feel better about yourself.
it probably made you feel humble
and saintly. and i bet you got
lost in daydreams of being
Saint Teresa and collecting
praise around the world and
arranging your praise into neat,
shiny piles that spit your image back to you
like little mirrors.
yeah, i bet you get real giddy
thinking about that,
kinda like how that one poker player
we saw during our second trip
to Las Vegas salivated all over
her chips and all over herself
for winning her chips?
you know, the grown woman wearing
braces on her teeth, her bleach
white hair pulled back in a bun
that said she'd never go down
on her man cuz that's "icky"
(but, really, if you were her man
would you really want her to go
down on you what with those
braces and rubberbands?),
and a two-sizes too small
white track suit suctioned to
her saggy body, remember her?
Remember how she kept fondling
her chips and then straightening
them into perfect columns,
pleased as punch with her bounty,
plotting for her next round
of good fortune?

Well, maybe your Saint Teresa
daydreams were nothing like
that poker lady's poker wet dreams,
but i can tell by the way you
smile in pictures that you believe
the world within a five foot radius
around you should be nothing less
than perfect and that you
think you're the gnome of that perfect Eden.
Maybe you're offended that i'm comparing
you to a gnome because
everyone knows you don't
look good in green and red,
but that's not the point
of my gnome metaphor.
i'm simply referring to the gnome's role
as gardenkeeper.

so ANYWAY my point is actually...
not that. my point is that you
went shopping three Tuesdays ago
and wandered into a spiritual
healing store and bought a string
of rosary beads because you thought
they made you look cool.
And when i laughed at you,
you told me to, "stop it!" because
it was my fault
you had to buy your spirituality.

i don't know. maybe it was my fault.
But then agian, i'm pretty sure
i forgot your name because
you never even told me what
it was in the first place
and i wish i hadn't wasted
my bunnies' fur on you.