Julio Possum

by Chris Espenshade

He likes ripe persimmons

Drinks American beer

He stinks like some old socks

And is thus welcome here

First fetched him on home

Thinking of a thick stew

But those little bead eyes

Will work voodoo on you

Hangs out the truck window

With wind-swept pointed face

Lamenting the road kills

Of the o-possum race 

Two beers is his limit

You can surely relate

Any more than that pair

He cannot quite walk straight

NPR radio

On TV, BBC

He always hisses and farts

At that Sean Hannity

Has taken over our house

Showing very little fear

Picture prehensile tail

And a glass chandelier

After three years with us

He developed an itch

To go and procreate

With a cute toothsome bitch

Now many years later

Put this story to bed

Confident that this time

He is not playing dead

Julio Possum, Julio Possum