the winter hare

concentration camps
think seriously;
they hang kerosene lamps,
light multiple gas ovens
in a barbed wire haze,
and bones sleep on hard wood,
hear gun shots and shouts,
and a winter hare runs from a chasing white dog
through the tall drought-resistant grasses
scampering into a hillside burrow
into darkness
hiding
because it needs to hide
and the trailing dog's nose becomes filled with dirt
while digging
persistently
when it discovers frightened people
like a giant throbbing lump of clay
hiding in the deep burrow
and suddenly
the nearing nuclear war
doesn't provide any relief
between the two.
close by,
under cover,
the commander in chief
wore his peaked cap
to protect his eyes
from the flash and nobody realized
his shadow was the only source of light.
on his last day in office
he looked unusually tentative,
devoid of charisma,
and filled with a Big Mac melancholy
which he shared with the white dog
who had come into his office
to escape the out-of-doors.
the people remained frightened,
staying in the background,
along with the vanishing winter hare.