A Possum's Tale
Sunday breakfast at the Café Lafayette
embraced a baby possum
exploiting the open door.
His peregrinations led him
to the hostess’s stand, curling up
in the nest of computer cables
stowed below. The horrified diners
muttering rat were not mollified
by the cook, broom in hand.
No larger than my fist, baby possum
was as easy pickup, suspended by his tail
and carried outside,
escorted to a vacant lot at the block’s
end, a likely spot for bugs and grubs,
a place a mother might likely look
for her lost son.
Roger Camp lives in Seal Beach, CA where he gardens, walks the pier, plays blues piano and spends afternoons with his pal, Harry, over drinks at Nick’s on 2nd. When he's not at home, he's traveling in the Old World. His work has appeared in Poetry East, Pank, Southern Poetry Review and Nimrod.
See more of his work in 3.4 and 7.3