A mama possum
Hurries across the boulevard
A hopped-up hipster bozo
Piss yellow hair blowing in the wind
Trying to prove his punkness
Veers his rust-bucket snot green Pontiac Bonneville
Sharply to the right
Crushes mama possum
Her body explodes with a sickening pop
Squashed beneath the wheel of reckless malice
The punk’s crew squeals with delight
“You really nailed it!”
“Now you gotta paint a possum on your car door!”
“Next time get a ‘coon!”
Baby possums in midnight darkness
Wait for mama to come home
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Poem of the Week
who have experienced
on a large
i tell raif
i think my
might be dead
haven't seen her
& her car hasn't moved
for two weeks.
you would smell it
passing me a plate
of triangular shaped bread
slathered in jam.
Story of the Week
DARLEEN SQUEELED into the empty spot as soon as the gleaming white Mercedes pulled out. "We got lucky," she told Montana. "Even on a Monday night, this lot is killer."
Montana rolled her big blue eyes. "Whatever."
The eleven year old had better things to do, like text her friends. Incessantly, as if she had a tic. The kid hadn't wanted to shop tonight, but Darleen insisted. This was their first Christmas without Paulie and the girls needed to stick together. Darleen's ex had been nasty lately and mediation had hit a cement wall. Montana wasn't aware how dangerously close they were to losing access to Paulie's vast and unreported wealth.
Montana sighed dramatically as she yanked open the door of the Porsche Cayenne and tumbled out. She didn't pause in her texting.
Darlene checked her face in the rearview mirror. The most recent fat transfer had been wildly successful. She loved her new lips. Grabbing her Gucci bag, she hopped out of the front seat.
Her daughter trailed her into the mall, thumbs flashing on her phone keypad.