The Jackalope

I have never seen
the crossbreed of legend,
except in artwork,
postcards from Kansas,
ashtrays in roadhouses,
bars and malls.
But I know she survives
by hiding in brome,
scanning the flat
land for predators.
I have wandered alone
on dusty backroads
and railroad tracks,
smelling her stench
in the larkspur.

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