Stoats

There is vanilla, chocolate and strawberry

There is the Staten Island ferry

I don’t eat ice cream or ride boats

I’d rather take care of my pet stoats

Buster and Rodger and Margaret

Each one is a perfect pet

They like to eat birds and bunnies, but let’s not consider that a blight

In the wintertime their boring brown coats turn a dazzling white

And sometimes they bring home a bunny with its head chewed off

I throw it in a pot with some carrots and cabbage and take my place at the trough

We have dinner together and I say the prayer

“God bless the headless bunny and my three grunting stoats over there.”

After dinner I mop the trough clean

And we take to our spots in a quaint domestic scene

The stoats are curled up by the fireplace hungrily looking at me

I’m in my rocker with a loaded shotgun resting on my knee