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.