Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                   Old Mr. ‘Possum and the Moon

Old Mr. ‘Possum is a garbageman
Who quietly works his appointed nightly rounds
Unappreciated as he tidies this
And cleans up that, all without any fuss

The other animals don’t seem to like him much
For his wobbling, waddling walk, his untidiness
His pointy nose, his all-draggledy tail
And his awkward shape like a loaf of oaf

But when he lifts his eyes to the queen of the skies
He knows that to her he is a knight in disguise

In day's prime, in summer's sweet eyelids,
Two lives arc, their eyes struggling to break a stare, sharing trysts through dulciloquent exchange,
After the deep blue blossoming lake. To avenge time, we sought it and drove our pupils
Down through the bluff and the green trees, limping past the arenose and albicant sands
Into it's quivering- I must say.

Hey fancy. You make me smile regularly,
I need you to know, because I don't always say so,

but if I didn't read what you write about
your interactions with life,
I'd definitely be not the half that I am of alive.

So thank you, from the perfume of my heart,
and the plastic that is my legs,
the opossum hair that makes me who I am,
and the light of my malaise.