Raccoon in a Trap
The kidskin of his clever paws
charcoal black and clawed like a witch
scratch at the turf. Hanging his head
he hunches like a bear and in his fur turns
a boggy funk, a whiff like the hairy belly
of a man. I carry the cage to the edge of the woods
and he barks, bares a grin of sharps,
points a flinty nose, moist and smart
to read his future on the air. I believe
this is the thief who stole the nest of chicks,
tore the vent from a hen and ate her
in the company of her peers—a husbandman’s
springtime menace, the glowing eyes
in the night. In the orchard, morning clouds
disperse. The sun returns for another run
pulled by the beasts of myth
before I put the muzzle of the gun through the wires
and fill his warm head with lead.
