the time of the e-star in poetry

after the apocalypse
after the lightning war
maybe they’ll partly remember
this time of year
as if through a glass dark
maybe they’ll call it
the E-Star

the one day giant rabbits
would ravage the earth
to survive we would hide
behind rocks in small caves
or way up on crosses
too high for even their hops
as manner of escaping graves

they’ll call it the E-Star
the day will have legs
too the Monday after
when we’d feast on the eggs
of the giant rabbits
that had mated and laid
so there’d be less next time
on that horrible day

if you think that it’s crazy
let your anger be tempered
there’s whole chunks of time
we’ve worse misremembered