Playing Possum Poem by Ima Ryma

As an opossum, I am skilled
At thanatosis, which I hear
Is seeming dead, unconscious willed,
When threatenings do cause me fear.
I do go dead in look and smell,
In involuntary response,
And fool intruders very well,
In very quite detailed nuance.
One being a death grimace grim,
With mouth wide open and teeth bared.
I went to a road on a whim.
My space with cars and trucks I shared.

Good at my playing possum skill
Went bad when I became road kill.