Ecce Cuniculus!

Fifty-one years
since my mother heaved
and there I was;

'either a skinned rabbit
or a boy', said
Dr McMahon, reeking of whiskey.

'Halibut oil', said my granny later,
'and orange juice from the NHS,
build him up and make him strong'

- or so I'm told.
She died on Christmas Eve
when I was ten; and now

staring into the mirror
I see her eyes, nose and chins,
the greying black hair I remember.


Notes on the poem:

NHS (line 8) - National Health Service

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