(Poem 97 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

The dogs alerted me to an intruder they
captured in the backyard this morning.
One of my dogs grabbed the joey when
I went to pick him up, but then released
him on command and seemed perplexed
that I wasn’t pleased with their efforts.
His tiny body fit in the palm of my hand;
it seemed rigor mortis had already set in.
Then I realized he was still slightly warm,
and was that a slight heartbeat I felt?
That smart baby opossum was playing
possum, and it probably saved his life.
There I went down a rabbit hole on the
internet, or should I say opossum hole?
What do they drink, eat, need, and how
do I begin to care for a pouchless baby?
Darkness, quiet, snacks, warmth, soft
towels, and a secure cardboard box.
The dogs are very confused as to why
I’m caring for the enemy, but keep
sniffing the odd creature curiously.

@Home Studio – 97^th poem of the year

Runner ups for the Opossum photos to accompany my poem: