Friday, November 7, 2008

Poetry Friday

Passing By

It does not surprise me,
or at least not much,
when early morning my car and I

drive past an extended string of dead possums,
clustered like roadkill gems on the inert center line.

Their lifeless mounds stream by and my eyes turn back to the road
and my thoughts gallop ahead as ever and I am

unremarkably unmoved.

But what does surprise me, finally,
is a sudden, stretching reach of yearning:

a desire to know,
for the possums' sake --
or perhaps my own --

or at least, at last, for pity's sake --

whether they went all at once

or one by one.


Liza Martz - Cogitations and Codswallop said...

Perhaps this comment is apropos of nothing but I've always found it disappointing that the only North American Marsupial bears such a strong resemblance to a rat. Having said that I must say that having read your brilliant poem I will now wonder too, did the road-kill possums topple like dominoes or perhaps go down while inspecting the remains of their kin.

Debbie Diesen said...

I suppose were it not for imponderables -- possum and otherwise -- there would not be poetry.

(Or at least that's what I'd like to think.)