When I Got There the Dead Opossum Looked Like

a sleeping prince. He didn't want a majestic
burial as majestic burials are inane. He wanted

his family back. He wanted to live but
we wouldn't let him. There were sweets to buy
and his route crossed ours so we crossed

him out. Nothing we could do then, and still
some middle-aged lady gathered him in her arms
and keened, cold nose in her ear. Keening

is inane. His family wanted him, but there were ribs
to buy and manifest destiny.
I pressed his cheek to my cheek, stupid.

I pressed his head to my heart, dumb.