The Lull

{via}

Here is a contemporary Shakespearean sonnet that I kind of really really like.

The Lull by Molly Peacock

The possum lay on the tracks fully dead.

I'm the kind of person who stops to look.

It was big and white with flies on its head,

a thick healthy hairless tail, and strong, hooked

nails on its racoon-like feet. It was a full

grown possum. It was sturdy and adult.

Only its head was smashed. In the lull

that it took to look, you took the time to insult

the corpse, the flies, the world, the fact that we were

traipsing in our dress shoes down the railroad tracks.

"That's disgusting." You said that. Dreams, brains, fur

and guts: what we are. That's my bargain, the Pax

Peacock, with the world. Look hard, life's soft. Life's cache

is flesh, flesh, and flesh.