At dusk, a four-legged high-back
skedaddles along the shore.
He feels my scrutiny,
pauses, tilts and focuses.
We freeze-frame the connection.
He’s checking his mudbug holes
for the stealthy crab-grab
planned under the lamppost-lit
dark. I’m dismissed; a sunset-seeker
always retreats before his dinnertime.
My father declares
raccoons are dangerous, seriously
in the land where my ancestors
wolves, bears, mountain cats,
people they’d dispossessed.
And even though the lake
is stocked with bass and bluegills,
the white egret is rudely
expelled by the newly arrived
heron, descending like a
possessive two-year-old clutching
all of the toys, insisting, “mine!”
Competing for parceled-out pieces
of their homeland
like mysterious figures on a screen
by the new strange species
locked in sterile shells
at the buzzing mosquitoes,
something is out there.
Inspired by #OctPoWriMo Day 4 prompt “_____and strange animals” and Lamppost