Sensing the burden of life’s futility
as cheap cigar smoke in a windowless room,
Mother Teresa came,
sat by my bedside and skinned a bunny rabbit alive.
“The fur is for your lumbago,” she said.

The rabbit hid in my left armpit,
I was now responsible for a totally defenceless life,
veins on its furless forehead pulsated fearfully
as I gently caressed the bunny with its own fleece
and mimed a lullaby.