I’m so sick and tired of a pet we acquired for my mother’s besotted with him.

He’s mother’s new treasure and knows only leisure, appears to be woefully dim.

The cinnamon coat and mottled black throat have rendered my mother quite zealous.

We’re now booked to go, to Sydney’s grand show. She’s determined to ‘make breeders jealous.’

She proclaims it’s our duty to showcase his beauty and proffers a brush for his hide.

Our resident ‘gopher’ dives under the sofa and though I tell mother ‘I tried’

I’m commanded to feed it and would you believe it this lagomorph now dines organic.

Then its nails need a trim and my manner’s quite grim as the rabbit’s contortions turn manic.

Through my bedroom we race at a furious pace, leaving both of my hands with deep scratches,

and I find all my jocks, and, yes, most of my socks, will need stitching or darning or patches.

Now we’re booked on a flight that takes off late at night and I have to put ‘rat’ in its basket.

Does mother believe that I can deceive this fiend or just bend down and ask it?

This bunny psychosis needs myxomatosis or I will tell mother to ‘Stick it!’

I’m poised to yell out when I hear mother shout ‘That little shit just ate my ticket!’

-That ingenious beast’s strategic last feast put paid to my mother’s ambition,

and rabbit’s contented, no longer tormented. The cunning and lop-eared tactician.