Possums and Patriarchy: A Haiku.
Balls of the meatheads,
Frozen as their hearts must be.
Eat the fucking rich.
We’ve had a resident possum fondly named Blossum at Hay-Trie Acres for the past 3 years or so. We rarely see Blossum, but when we do we always give space to indulge – as seen by the frozen meatball meeting its demise. I wrote the little poem above in honor of Blossum the Possum, chomping on a frozen meatball.
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