My grandfather always said that living is like
licking honey from a thorn. —Louis Adamic
The raccoon boldly strode through the garden.
Attuned to my presence she merely slowed,
turned to face me and would have won
a staring contest had I not screamed,
clapped and wildly waved my arms
to urge her onward and away.
Still, she was unhurried, paused as she
left, chancing glances back at me, stopped,
contemplated escape by climbing the pine she
now standing leaned against—a Frank Sinatra pose
without the cigarette. No. I’d neither troubled
nor impressed her. So we begin our pas de deux.
Our dance will last the summer as we yield
to incompatible desires, guarding what each
thinks she deserves by rights that nature’s
constitution does not protect.
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