when you work back-to-back
12 hour graveyard shifts
alone
in a quiet place
where you rarely
see anyone
for more than
a few minutes
at a time
your mind goes squinty
you
become
one with
sound
now, I feel the sounds
of the traffic going by
I taste the sound
of the planes coming and going
from the airport
when these die down,
I smell the sound of the leaves
falling from the October branches
I hear coyotes
yipping in the underbrush
but I don’t ever hear the bunnies
the bunnies are too quiet
(so they can avoid the coyotes)
but I see them
after a while, they come to
trust me
as much as a wild bunny
ever trusts anything
that isn’t another bunny
as I make my patrols,
and I stumble onto one,
really close by, they no longer
immediately
dart away
now, they just sit there⠀
and munch on their grass, ⠀
as long as I don’t get
too close
it’s more than just that
freezing in place
defense mechanism
they do that when anyone
comes near, but it lasts only
until you get within
a dozen or so feet of them,
and then they’re off like lightning
but when they allow you
to come
much closer,
it’s special
or so I tell myself, to pass the time
I tell myself that it’s high praise,
and I appreciate it
I appreciate it far more
than most of the compliments
I’ve ever received from people
for those little rabbits
to just sit there,
only three or four
feet away from me,
they have to know
that I’m not going
to suddenly lunge at them,
try to eat them
when a person
compliments me,
I ask myself
the same question,
“are they gonna try to eat me?”
the answer is
usually yes
but the bunnies,
they know me now
I see them,
and as mean and cantankerous
as I can sometimes be,
as misanthropic and as nihilistic
as I frequently feel,
when I see a bunny, I still
instantly, instinctively, turn into
a four-year-old child
I begin talking like
a fucking idiot,
“hewo, widdle bunny wabbit.
“you doin’ bunny stuff?”
a human,
I’m instantly asking myself,
“am I gonna have to
“punch this motherfucker
“in the mouth?
“or is he just lost?”
but the bunnies
can do no wrong by me
any person I see,
I remain professional
and friendly (enough)
but inside,
I’m going cold and still,
weighing what I think this particular
coyote’s motives are
I sometimes deal with
meth heads, homeless people,
severely mentally unstable people,
people who are just lost
I helped a guy get home
had to call the police
to come get him
because he could only tell me
his first and last name,
didn’t even know his address
he referred to himself as
“mentally incompetent”
and apparently, he had
wandered away from home
when they weren’t looking
(if they bothered to look)
he hopped on the bus
and got all the way out here
wearing just shorts, a t-shirt,
socks, and sneakers
I don’t know what his
mental health diagnosis was,
probably severely autistic,
like Raymond Babbitt in
the movie Rain Man
I just know that he is someone
who requires 24/7 looking after
he never should have been
out here with me
and the coyotes
in the cold
I still see his face ⠀
clearly in my mind, ⠀
I hear his voice ⠀
in the October leaves ⠀
⠀
I still see the face of that cop
who I turned custody of him over to,
a big Samoan cop,
looked like it was his first
(or last)
call of his shift, because
he was beat,
dead tired
it was something that I
got to feel halfway
good about
much better than
just telling meth heads
they can’t hang out here
better than telling homeless people,
“hey, you can finish
“collecting cans and bottles from
“the dumpster.
“I won’t call the police on you.
“But you gotta pick up that
“trash you threw on the ground.”
so far, they’ve all considered that
a pretty good deal
and they picked up after themselves
that’s a brutal existence
everyone is a predator
when you’re dumpster diving for
plastic bottles and aluminum cans
anyway,
in the dark,
the crisp leaves
falling off the October trees,
they sound loud,
like intruders
climbing over the fence
like hordes of barbarian invaders
and yet,
you never hear
the bunnies
you only see them
I imagine the older ones
telling the younger ones,
“he’s okay. he won’t eat you.
“he’s just the watchman.
“he just sits in the dark over there
“and reads, writes his poetry,
“and plays that stick thing
“they call a guitar.
“he’s harmless.”
“besides,⠀
“he’s too sad and angry ⠀
“to chase us. ⠀
“he just chases words⠀
“and sounds.”
“but just the same,
“don’t get too close.
“he’s still a human,
“and those things are
“way more dangerous
“than coyotes.”
©️2026 Kevin Trent Boswell
