They hung the possum high in a black hickory
With greasy raindrops dripping from its grey mane.
They wrapped its long rat tail around a slippery limb
And tied it in intricate knots of grass string.
The old possum, caught up in himself,
Coiled and jerked, stretched and bobbed,
Showing triangular teeth,
And black glassy eyes.
But gradually the blood oozed out of his head
Into freckled pools on the cold brown mud,
And grinning demurely at death
He acted in the macabre comedy
That starred his own demise.
MARSHALL MYERS recently had a collection of his poems, On the Inside, published by Western Sun Publications. He lives in Owensboro, KY.
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