Poetry: “Raccoon” by Michael Lyle

I watch a raccoon wobble
like a drunk from a bar
in daylight, so maybe he’s rabid
or she is old and confused
too many seasons, litters, scavenges
cloudy eyes, achey paws
a turkey vulture circles and leaves
returns with a flock
the raccoon flattens against the grass
animal control joins me in the yard
but doubts rabies
says age and cataracts
it retreats into the tall weeds
and a grove of maple and poplar
as the officer drives away
I imagine my bare feet along the path
among the brush and shriveled leaves


Michael Lyle‘s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Dappled ThingsIthacaLit, and The Hollins Critic.  Michael lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.

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