To an Opossum
Opossum, you are easily the one
I’m happiest to see. Do you still walk
with that great lumber, by your short legs won,
and do you still scream when you wish to talk?
Do you still slink in subtle alleys, scared
of eyes of any kind but those you know?
Do you still stiffen dead so that you’re spared
when something catches up with where you go?
You once tried sneaking into my warm house.
My instinct acted before my mind could.
I ran you off, unwelcome as a louse.
If I could change that reaction, I would.
For you sought only that you might be warm.
I should not be Cold in a mammal’s form.