Tale Of A Tail
Posted: Fri Aug 26, 2011 6:22 pm
Tale Of A Tail
© Stephen Whiteside 26.08.2011
I saw a possum tail, but I couldn't find the possum;
A brown and furry tail, with a white and curly tip.
It lay upon the tan bark underneath the wattle blossom,
And when at first I spotted it, I felt my poor heart skip.
I saw the possum screaming, and I heard the muscles tearing;
Some large, unfeeling predator was working with its teeth;
Ruthless and determined, it maintained a carefree bearing,
While the possum wriggled frantically but helplessly beneath.
It must have eaten all the bones, the guts, the furry skin,
Yet couldn't find the wherewithal to polish off the tail.
Perhaps it reached a point where nothing else would quite fit in.
Perhaps at end of day its taste buds proved a tad too frail,
Yet ox tails are quite populer, and kangaroo tails, too,
And in comparison to these, a possum tail is slight,
So why it wasn't eaten, I have not the slightest clue,
Though I must admit, I didn't want to try a single bite.
So there, I guess, you have it. It was gristly. It was bony,
And it lay there quite rejected by that fox or feral hound
Who judged that, as a piece of food, it was a total phoney -
A tail without its possum, all abandoned, on the ground.
© Stephen Whiteside 26.08.2011
I saw a possum tail, but I couldn't find the possum;
A brown and furry tail, with a white and curly tip.
It lay upon the tan bark underneath the wattle blossom,
And when at first I spotted it, I felt my poor heart skip.
I saw the possum screaming, and I heard the muscles tearing;
Some large, unfeeling predator was working with its teeth;
Ruthless and determined, it maintained a carefree bearing,
While the possum wriggled frantically but helplessly beneath.
It must have eaten all the bones, the guts, the furry skin,
Yet couldn't find the wherewithal to polish off the tail.
Perhaps it reached a point where nothing else would quite fit in.
Perhaps at end of day its taste buds proved a tad too frail,
Yet ox tails are quite populer, and kangaroo tails, too,
And in comparison to these, a possum tail is slight,
So why it wasn't eaten, I have not the slightest clue,
Though I must admit, I didn't want to try a single bite.
So there, I guess, you have it. It was gristly. It was bony,
And it lay there quite rejected by that fox or feral hound
Who judged that, as a piece of food, it was a total phoney -
A tail without its possum, all abandoned, on the ground.