Poem 324

The title of course is ironic, who are the pests in this scenario … ?

( I like the use of parentheses in this, the rhyme of plums/runs, and the three possible meanings of the last line … )

Pests

Here's a photo of me holding up a dead possum
or trying to
                     (look at my arms like sticks)
my brother grips the rifle
the older boy (I forget him)
is really holding the possum
we found asleep in the crook of a tree
he 
      didn't wake when the bark pinged
beside his ear (my brother)
when a bullet banged into the trunk (me)
or our other two turns each
                                                        didn't even look
like he was having a nightmare
stuck up the stunted tree he'd chosen
sauntering home the night before
stomach full of plums

then casually the anonymous older boy
shoots him as he wakes
and runs
                    and here 
I hold him up
                            four pounds
of spoiled fruit
in a furry bag
                            (a little scarlet at the mouth)