The Death of Punxsutawney Phil

by Creeley Piker

HE wore false buck teeth
And once his hips gave out
He needed help getting out of his hole
At 118, he was not what he used to be.

He emerged that last time
And before he saw or didn't see his shadow
he collapsed in a furry heap
Punxsutawney Phil was no more

We were left not only in mourning
but also in suspense
would winter last or spring break through
His corpse revealed nothing

Anxious, we waited
spring never arrived
and winter never left
for Phil was not there to tell it to leave

We ate of his body
And used his hide for warmth
And still we had no hint of green
No scent of bougainvillea

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