Raccoons reside in the tall maples
throughout the downtown core.
For months at a time, no signs appear,
except for the scattering of garbage.

While we sleep, beasts as big as
bear cubs prowl our yards.
We almost make them out in the moonlight:
omnivores in our trees, on our houses.

Snarling fights wake me in the night
raccoons in border wars.
They shriek and rattle their teeth and attack,
bent on wounding each other.

I am frightened by this wildness
so close to my pillow.
They try to knock each other
from the treetops. Branches shake.

When we see them in the daytime
a family stepping down the driveway
they pause to stare us down;
unrushed, they pass on by.

We will not raise our bats or clubs
to fight them for the neighborhood.