HUGO by Karl Koweski

my brother texted pictures
of our baby brother, Alex,
cuddled up with a possum.
he held the varmint to
his face as though he
were nuzzling a puppy.
Alex’s eyes were hell bent
and whiskey soused from
a night of heavy drinking.
the possum looked as though
it’s having the best day
of its life, mouth curved
into a drooling, idiotic smile,
eyes black and oddly mirthful.

my brother asked what
I thought of that crazy shit,
and I told him honestly
I’d be more surprised if
he told me Alex didn’t have
a possum for a drinking partner.

when I told the story to
co-workers the next day,
flashing the photos as proof,
I weaved a scenario where
Alex lured the critter into
his garage man cave with
golden bowls of Michelob.
that once drunk, Hugo the
fun-loving possum became
amiable to posing for selfies
basically, becoming an
honorary Koweski brother
for six consecutive nights.

when I talked to Alex later,
he quickly dispelled that notion.
hell no, he said, I caught that
little fucker creeping outside.
I grabbed its neck, wrestled
it inside and forced it to
take pictures with me.
I offered it some beers, but it
wasn’t having any of that.
it stayed pissed off the entire time.

but Hugo was smiling
in all the pictures…
photogenic little bastard.

nah, it was growling, mostly.
I finally had to send it along with
a boot to its possum ass.
such a disappointment,
I thought, how rarely
reality aligns with the
stories I construct to
make existence tolerable.

Karl Koweski lives in a momentarily peaceful valley in rural Alabama. His latest collection of poetry "Abandoned By All Things" is available from Roadside Press. His latest collection of short stories, "Thrift Store Jackets" will be available January 2025 from Roadside Press as well.

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