The Sighting Part I

Possum stops in front of my car

and swings its prehistoric face into the light.

These are the strange times,

always these are the strange times

for as long as it can remember,

if it can remember.

I'm trying to climb behind

its surprised nocturnal eyes,

into its tiny cranium.

I'm staring into it, looking

back out at a huge metal beast

whose eyes shine like day:

"You can't eat them and

you can't fuck them and

they stink of danger.

All pervasive they run

on hard black ground

right at you, stop and stare."

It turns it naked face away,

ambles up onto the curb,

spiked hair covering rippling body.

Oh possum, give me your secrets,

translate this night for me,

give me more than just this sighting.