it rested. A white balloon
inflated still, with it's silk
ribbon dangling in
the brown water.
Above it, a mere three
feet away sits the great
Jeffery Raccoon on it's
deathbed panting it's
snarled snout heaves
obscenities in growls
and it's one good eye
hovers in sadness as it
slows.
One had no life and
still it sat while the other's
dying breath it gasped and
my hazel eyes fell solemn
to the creek bed moving
still.
The balloon, had it had a face
would be withered and crows
feet marks would trace the
corners of it's eyes staring
at mine.
Old Jeffery coon though,
would not meet mine.
His eyes were dark for final
times his body twisted and broken
unmoving he finally sat.
My quiet time will be not
like the rodent nor the balloon,
except accepting that it has,
come to be my last of lasts I'll
remain too, in the creekbed
moving still.
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