A bulging form looms,
The world’s fattest possum
I do believe,
Gorging on cat chow
Placed there for ferals
Who prowl the space
Of my bird-rich garden.
Each night this possum
And his pudgy kin
Show up at sunset
Then munch the bowl clean.
I don’t grudge them grub
But question my wisdom
In feeding these creatures,
Whose world’s rarely generous,
An endless supply
Of crunchy sweet kibble.
They get lazy, obese,
And won’t stand a chance
(Waddling so slowly
On tiny pink feet)
At evading quick cars
In the nearby street.
©2019 John I. Blair, 1/16/2019
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