I keep getting visited by this raccoon. She's pregnant, and the past few times I've gone in the backyard for a smoke or to take my dog out or to have a beer outside she's there waiting for me, peering over our redwood fence that separates our yard from our neighbors. This raccoon has the most intense eyes. She just stares right at you, into your soul, and savors the sight. Sometimes she curls her lips a little bit, like she's reading something she doesn't like. We're all sinners, I couldn't blame her. Or maybe I'm crazy for thinking so much of a raccoon. What does she know? She never got to know me. She just stares. Is it absurd to infer so much from a stare? Maybe that's just her face. Sometimes mean faces mean well. I think I'm gonna start to call her Karen.
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I spit bullets in my feet
Every time I speak
So I write instead
And still people want me dead
~msc
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