"RIGGO" BY PETE FREAS (THE MINDWORM)
A Poem by Pete Freas (The Mindworm)
Those summer evenings trashcan clatter would
awaken me in dead of night, three pairs
of onyx eyes reflected back at me behind
the kitchen curtain peeking out at them.
When Vader started barking, two of them
would disappear, just melt into the dark.
But, always one remained; he knew I’d not
let Vader out – I know what coons can do
to dogs. The morning’s litter strewn, of course,
confirmed my visitors. The neighbors bitched,
set traps, put poison in their trash, and once
or twice took shots at them, but never found
a carcass anywhere. I guess I had
developed a relationship with this old boy.
A mutual respect kept me and him
from confrontation, sort of like we’d come
to know each other some. But then, I did
not try approaching him, nor he to me.
I did admire his pluck – it was as if
he thumbed his nose at urban sprawl. I felt a jealousy,
a pride in how he had adapted to
the circumstance – he didn’t need to hunt
or harvest, since we provided sustenance
in what we would not eat ourselves, what we
threw out in quantity. We never were
first-name familiar; but, I felt a kind
of kinship with this raccoon friend of mine
until I saw old Riggo, roadkill hard
as stone, his 4 feet standing in the air.
I miss his nighttime calls and named him for
my momentary sight of him beside
the road, a rigor mortis statue up-
side down. I do not know what did him in:
he knew no fear ... perhaps his arrogance,
perhaps his boldness without caution found
him vulner’ble between his wilderness
and commerce. Maybe he just knew his time
was near and used what he had learned to take
his exit on the terms he chose himself.
© Pete Freas 04/2005
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