Raccoon Sonnet (One Line Stolen)
This morning, I saw them. Two raccoons in the traps,
rolled furred balls, sad girl eyes unmoving, black rings
blurry with trouble, stuck. Wyoming wind cutting my
face like a good apple and fat chickens strutting around
the silver traps. They take the chickens, someone explained.
Something about kidnapping, something about killing
elsewhere: rubbery neck in feral mouth, dragging two by
two to a burrow, little hands scraping feathers until a rubied
terrain of meat. In town, people are staring at me again.
White men holding bacon to their mouths and looking.
Watching me look at them looking at me, salty meat on
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