The Well-Read Possum
Wild Nights—Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!
—Emily Dickinson
Mrs. O'Possum looks at her litter of eight
and shudders.
This is going to take some getting used to, she thinks.
The wind rustles her coat,
her eyes close in memory of Mr. O'Possum,
lately of The Woods
who went foraging one cool evening and never returned.
The wind picks up.
His legacy is, oh, I hate to say it, hideous.
But, the nights we had, she thinks. Wild Nights, Wild Nights!
I reckon these are faces only a mother can love.
She sighs,
lies on her side, affording access.
Mind the teeth, darlings.
Poetry by jim
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Read 122 times
Written on 2024-07-13 at 01:42
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