This isn't my usual sort of poetry, but finding myself in a somber mood today I decided to share something more intellectual and worldly with my new friends here at Mingle. (My typical poems are about life and love.) My Poor Dead Opossum has met with critical acclaim. (There was this guy – the critic – who told me, "I really like this poem! I don't know why I like it, but I do.") So now without further ado, here's something completely different:


My Poor Dead Opossum, the 2nd Generation

Poor dead opossum, laying in the road,
You would have been a big one, if you'd only growed.
Eyeballs oozing, entrails flowing,
Enough to get your stomach going.

Last year I saw your mama here,
With only buzzards 'round to jeer.
Kicking, crying, lonely dying,
Sadly sobbing, brains a frying.

Year after year our furry friends,
On asphalt tombs meet bloody ends.
I feel for you there in the road,
Never more to shoot your load.

Careless souls rushing through the night,
Not only you caught in this plight.
Men as well, snared in the light,
Lose their minds, give up the fight.

Once thought great by might of reason,
Now well lost, that passing season.
Like flies mankind overran the earth,
Outran his mind in drunken mirth.

Man's lost his values, lost his God,
Lost his reason, the silly clod.
Helter-skelter through the man-made night,
We scratch and we bleed, we scream and fight.

My poor dead opossum, bleeding in the sun,
Trespassed in our madness, in your last ditch run.
Possums stay in your leaves of splendor,
Mankind is all **** in the blender.

We all seem to be in a hurry to get though this life.