late  last  night
the  dog
killed  a  possum
i  scrambled  barefoot
too  little
too  late

pawing  confused
at  its  curled
limp  body
i  stood  slouched
with  a  shovel
and  bag,
in  dead  silence
with  our  heads
at  a  tilt

we  stared

with  a  grip
on  the  handle
i  leaned  in
to  the  stench,
the  job  had
to  be  done,
but  mother  of  god
the  twitching  had  begun

death  hadn’t  won

i  met  eyes
with  the  dog
he  said
what  the  fuck??

it  awoke
like  a  drunkard
stiff  and  swaying,
with  a  faraway
look  in  its  eyes,
wobbling  slowly,
gathering  strength,
to  venture  back

into  the
black
cruel
night

and  as  odd
as  it  was,
somehow  too
felt  familiar
somehow  too
goes  unnoticed
but  will  always
be  near,
in  strangers
just  passing
in  good  people  i  know
when  too  much
has  been  asked
when  too  much
has  been  taken
the  body
carries  on
though  the  marrow
is  gone

and  it  isn’t
the  possum
that  keeps  me
from  sleep
late  tonight,
as  much  as
the  thought
that  some  men
may  never  reclaim
their  reason  to  wake,
may  never  reclaim
their  strength

to  venture  back

into  the
black
cruel
night