Continuing with the conversation from yesterday about odd places to write: Our invasive raccoon is, I now know, inside the attic. I decided that yesterday morning while I sat on the back step from 4:30 – 5:30 listening to the gnawing without catching a glimpse of the culprit. I figured it’s a pregnant female, which might explain her cravings for wood every morning at 4:30. (Renee, if you read this, don’t get any ideas. Stick with peanut butter.) With nothing better to do, I composed the first verse and elements of his poem.
The Back Step
My pj’s I am wearing on the back step.
It’s dark so not so daring on the back step.
I’m craning up and glaring on the back step.
My temper’s close to swearing on the back step.
I hear the varmint chewing from the back step
And wonder what she’s doing from the back step.
Her gnawing has me rueing from the back step.
I’m failing with my shooing from the back step.
I’m slowly realizing from the back step
There’ll be no compromising from the back step.
I know I’m moralizing from the back step,
But I’m seriously despising from the back step.
Her kids, she’ll never show ‘em on the back step.
I know she’ll never grow ‘em on the back step.
I know I’ll never know ‘em on the back step.
Guess I’ll write a poem on the back step.
P.S. While preparing this post I discovered that she’s already had her babies and stashed them above our utility room ceiling. I can hear them squalling when I enter the room. No more Mr. Nice Guy. This is war!