Short Bunkhouse Poems

Did I ever tell you about the time
I saw a pair of wild weasels in the
parking lot of the government bunkhouse
I was staying at for the season

And they made me cry
because I had been so misled about weasels
up until that point

No on bothered to mention the 
long slender tails and the impossibly slim bodies
and the two-toned palette
of brown and gold
and the joy
with which they hop about
why had no one mentioned
the joy?
...

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