An Odd little face snuffles in the dark.
A shuffle, then a scuttle, then a ****.
“Raccoons can ****?” I say; question mark.
No reply: not growl, or sniffle, or bark.

I step closer, what’s that? a giggle.
“Of course we can ****.” he laughs a little.
“Why wouldn’t we?” he starts to quibble.
“our claws and feet!? Cause we don’t eat, we nibble?”

“That we have legs, like stumps and fur, like coal?
That we rummage through trash and sleep in a hole?
That we eat through the night, till our bellies are full?
But in our heart is a song. In my body; a soul.”

I step back, aghast “I’m sorry I’ve done this.”
If I have shunned you and thought you a mess.
You must know that I know that you are not a pest.
That in you, is perfection: the better than best.”

“I know that you know this, I know that you do.
That I am made by the maker, just like you.”
I reply, “you wanna hang out Thursday?”
He turns to leave, “yes I do.”