RACCOON IN THE GABLE
The bullets in your feral eyes,
aimed behind that burglar’s mask
you flex so—what?—they think you bad?
To dare them savage strays despise
your twisted snout, your rugged mouth,
those bandit hands, your calloused touch
that built that ghetto up from dust?
To make them stray cats pussy out?
Dammed behind eroded wood,
trudging through its mired tracks,
you shift & crook. In the net of cracks,
you’re as the ō displaced in hood.