Raccoons

Raccoons

They are creeping out from the
storm sewers, yawning after a
long torpor cuddled up with
their newborn young, all voracious,
seeking food, no matter where,
no matter how.
I see one in the dusk on the
bare branches of the tree,
looking towards me and then
away at possible pickings in the
neighbor’s yard.
I growl, low and threatening
and she looks back at me,
eyes wide open, remembering
last summer when we had it out,
that raccoon, her kin, and me.
Last year, I kept my grapes and peaches.
I intend the same this year.