a poem I read to my possum-obsessed dog

from John Gardner's novel October Light (1976)

The Opossum

One day, having nothing much to do, God

Created the Opossum. It was a kind of experiment:

How stupid, ugly, and downright odd

A creature (he wondered) could he possibly invent?

When the ‘Possum was created, God shook his head

And grinned. “That’s not very good,” he said.

But for no real reason he loved the fool thing

And kept the thing functioning age after age.

The dinosaurs died out, or began to sing,

Transformed into birds; apes became the rage;

But the ‘Possum trudged on—with some other antiques:

Spiders, sand-crabs, various old freaks.

“Father,” said the Son, “that Opossum’s a killer—

Murders baby chicks for no reason. He’s got to go!

Times have changed, and changed for the better.

He’s an anachronism, if I may say so.”

God sighed. “Peace and Justice are right,” he said,

And whispered to the ‘Possum, “Lie down. Play dead."

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