Jenny Byrne lives in Dublin. Always curious and drawn to learning she has had a varied career from media to Montessori teaching and is currently working towards her professional HR qualification. She wrote a lot before a demanding career and young motherhood took centre stage. She is now finding her way back. Her work has been published in The Galway Review and accepted for the upcoming issue of Impspired.

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Death to Bunny

Father tipped the car
the day she was born,
distracted through red with delight
and a few pints from the Parnell,
no one claimed, a happy tale

A good baby, settled,
mother got her girl,
but a laboured chest
brought a trip to children’s ward,
awaking fury and temper
that lurked behind eyes
of baby blue

Poor little Bunny
torn to shreds by
months old hands,
lay limp flung in ragged tufts of
thread, cotton, snot, and tears
beyond repair, no saving

The rage was alive,
poor veins they said
no access, as they shaved and shoved
metal, invading her downy head,
little baba pin cushion

Matron appalled
what child would act this way, not normal!
Mother arrived unaware, sensing,
high heels, click clacking
in determination to locate

Unlinking her from line and drip,
dabbing little headwounds,
kissing blackened bruises on
micro hands and arms,
plucked up her shaven,
distorted cub

Rabid,
she marched out the door
leaving a trail of destruction
and mouths agog,
send me a bill and I’ll see you in court,
something awoke in Mother too.