Birds and possums,
coons and squirrels
frequent my wife’s garden.
Dawn to dusk I spy on them
from an upstairs window
next to my computer.
They remind me of the city
poor foraging in Dumpsters.
This morning a coon dispatched
a possum that had
frightened away two feral cats
I feed every day at 4 a.m.
When I went out on the deck
and waved my arms to dispatch
the coon, he sat on his rump
and stared at me with a glare
I saw 50 years ago in the eyes
of a girl who became a nun.
She is still a nun today.
She said cut it out back then.
As did the coon today.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What were you doing to that poor girl who became a nun? Naughty boy! Interesting poem!