Our Opossum Has a Strong Propensity for Crime
By Frank Daub
Discovered in a backyard nighttime check –
an opossum wandering behind our garden shed.
Pin-pointed face, squinting eyes.
It did not run -- to my surprise.
Only staring, lighted softly by the porchlight.
Little.
Sleek in a white-gray-tan-straight-fur-slicked-down way.
The streets around are not friendly to its kind.
This unfair truth made up my mind.
I should let the shed-bottom harbor it.
This would require: FEEDING.
I decided the feeding plan -- without data-based reference --
would be workable.
I tried every sort of natural vegetable.
Walnuts added when the berries nurtured
hordes of ants --
Not
the opossum.
The dietary effort proved it.
Our opossum has a strong propensity for crime.
Particular it is to nighttime
sneaking forays - for food of course.
(This assured the legality of it for me.)
Our opossum was not particular to dietary do’s and don’ts;
Being just inclined to FEEDING its necessary wants.
The animal had a penchant – not a preference --
an exceeding zest for anything edible.
Incredible.
The sky was a bruised and swollen purple,
bursting open above the slick asphalt.
While all behind me breathed its sour, familiar violence,
I bolted out into the sudden, roaring flood.
The rain was the only thing that ever touched my bare skin
without wanting to leave a mark.
It struck my shoulders like a thousand cold, pin-prick needles,
washing off the stale terror,
drowning out the sudden screams that lived in and around me.
I slammed my canvas boots into the black mirrors of the street,
a wild, breathless grin ripping open my face.
Murky, engine-slicked water exploded upward,
slapping my knees, soaking through my thin denim.
Every heavy splash was a deliberate riot -
I spun in chaotic circles, throwing my head back,
tasting the storm, a creature pure and unpunished.
It was a rare, ecstatic madness to just be small and playing.
And no one came out to seize my wrists.
No voice rose to call me filthy, or foolish, or loud.
The thunder clapped, but it asked for no apology.
For ten exquisite minutes, my laughter outran the noise,
the storm let me exist at my full, unsoftened volume,
and the water held me without demanding I break.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wind bites, then relents~
a tease of thaw in the air.
Mud-slicked boots stumble
over winter's brittle bones.
Daffodils pierce the silence.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A vagrant squirrel navigates his kingdom of cracked asphalt~
Sudden rain slicked the park bench's peeling green paint
as he rattled past, king of his grocery cart chariot ~
overflowing hull crammed with glossy brown treasure,
each nut a testament to frantic, twitching hoarding.
His beady eye judged a passing Labrador's indifference:
Fool! Winter's coming, and my cart's already paid for.
Big frame, large hands stood this giant man
hair slicked back, moustache and a golden tan
Everything about him was cool and sweet
that's when I noticed his child like feet
Not sure how he could balance his massive frame
figuring out the physics would drive Newton insane.
This man in the elevator
needs to break out a razor
His beard is massively long
with aromas of Cheech
and Chong
Everywhere else this man was well put together
ironed shirt, slicked hair, polished boots of leather
but his beard was everywhere wild
like a freshly sugared up child
His face was straight forward
secretly feeling my gaze
"What kind of insects are hiding in that maze?"
I wanted to ask but that wouldn't be nice
I stepped back
Didn't want to get any lice
As the door opens up to the ground floor
we disperse
never to see him anymore
Who am I to judge?
That growth has probably taken a year
As my mom always told me
Looks aren't always as they appear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
winter dusk descends—
a sodium-vapor halo
holds the dark at bay
concrete sentinel
casts long, lonely geometries
on rain-slicked asphalt
Slicked back hair
red shorts
no shirt
warm fall day
Running
from family
from work
from responsibilities
words are barely used
no tears
no arguments
just indifference
There's a better place on the top of the hill
but its not
More hills
There is a breeze
and he clutches it
it's been a long time
No one understands why he traded
comfort for pain
Normal life for change
miniscule details become important
as the breeze is now cold air
There were many paths to have taken
but he chose the easy one.
Your ear has to be
tuned to hear
the City's rhythms
buried below the noise
and be able to discern
a melody woven through
the dissonant chatter
as in the rumble and splash
of motorcar tyres moving
along streets slicked
with watery reflections
and in the jarring grind
of tram wheels,
screeching brakes
and warning bells
and in the cadence
of human voices
as heard in quiet
conversations and loud
yells - to feel
a sense of elation when
all the scattered notes
of a City come together
and you hear
its surprising song.
Neon’s radioactive glow in a window,
offers the cheap promise of pleasure.
Like a hypnotic, fluorescent serpent,
It flashes, blinks and winks - “Welcome”
It fairly slithers on rain-slicked boulevards,
it warms like moonlight on cold unfriendly nights,
It signals cool, ready fun in the summertime.
We dress our vices in silky, pastel colors,
gamblers choices of Disney flavored whiskies.
It’s the soft, velvet glove that hides brass knuckles,
oh, you’ll feel those bruises in the morning.
The world’s a dark alleyway with an electric blush,
whose color flatters the lonely, desperate,
and makes sin look like something you could fall for.
Neon is perfume for the optical senses.
In that light, everything seems possible.
Isn’t that girl smiling at you? You see,
beauty is easier to trust than the truth.
Neon imperviously reflects off regrets,
and glitters brightest on broken dreams.
Of course daylight is harsh, but honest.
Didn’t we come in here to escape it?
.
.
Songs for this:
The Ballad of Mac the Knife by Sting & Dominic Muldowney
Any Old Thing by Swing Republic
Ramparts of the castle?
Slicked well with rain or blood?
Ask the master's vassal.
His veins have caused a flood...
Well. Is that so? Don't you know?
Steady as we go.
Carrion, feed well each crow!
Falling down, O foe...
Wilting is a part of life?
Dance upon, O strife.
Circumstances, red raw rife.
Krokus, knead the knife.
Thought-spark, ignite in the dark!
Covenant and Ark!
Ocean deep, seen many a shark?
Gloss well thy fair bark...
Silent are the gods of death?
More talkative than some.
Cradle well, O sea of Tethys!
Seth, the storm may come...
Causality chaotic!
Grind them with thy wheel!
Current events make all sick!
Enemy teach to steal!
Feeling well, O Fates a-Three?
Close thy eyes and see.
Doom, bequeath! Most desperately!
Sun god, fortune, fee...
Watching his paws twitch
as he watches
the raindrops explode
just beyond our
shelter
Bobs his head towards me
as oils slicked skies
are cracked by spoons and forks of lightning
The aftermathic rumbles brings
his shambles of fur a little closer
and a whine
of a look
Protect me from the thunder
I do.
1. Mom always told me about the guy on a white horse
Who opens the door with a peck and little noise
Holds my hand in public and always says the best things
Lifts me over his shoulder and teases me when I act annoying
2. Someone who holds a candle to forever
Nice, smart, and has that kind of love fever
We argue sometimes about the weather
And patch up when I wear his favorite sweater
3. Now, I am standing at the altar, in a white dress and a veil
The priest begins, reciting all the things I know so well
The moon bears witness to our nuptial kiss
Friends are jolly in our endless bliss
4. Mom comes over, repeating a list of everything I need to know
With a wide grin and slicked-back hair, Dad ushers me to the marble floor
Hand in mine, he tells me he's proud
He leaves with a kiss and then the lights go out
6. He is no longer with Mom. They were once like us, stupid and in love.
Reminiscing their fractured past. Panic sets in.
You address my worry with a hand squeeze, saying, "Let's prove the world wrong."
The ancient jagged rocks stand, like black sentinels along the waterside,
Protecting the land from the continuous raging tide.
They are perpetually black, either slicked with water or as a sharp silhouette against a blue crystal sky.
They dominate everything and are especially feared by every mariner that make their slow way by.
On their landward faces they offer protection from the wind,
And creatures shelter there, in a place where peace is so hard to find.
The tops are sharpened points, that seem to reach right up to the clouds,
The only sounds are the wind, the sea and the gulls screeching out loud.
These sounds are never ending they go on for eternity,
The sentinels just ignore it all and stand there protecting everything from the everlasting sea.
This fashion is in, that one is out
narrow waists with baggy knees
Wide lapels and razor-thin ties
Who knows what will be
Slicked-back ducktails
top off muscle t-shirts
hoping to attract
coy smiles from a skirt
My friend and I dress real dumb
bowling shirts plugging Bazooka-Joe gum
The girls see us, giggle, and flee
Who knows what will be
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