(for Gay Morgan, raccoon feeder extraordinaire)

I see them scurrying up the driveway
as I pull in—two fat-bottomed girls
who’ve been munching on the dry food
on the porch bowl, because I expect
that the night visitors will find
whatever the neighbor cats don’t.

You can come back now! I holler in
their direction as I get out of the car,
seeing a black snout poke out from
under the gate to the backyard.
I’m going inside!

I smile at their little footy prints
as I step onto the porch, the precise
toe placement and the invisible heel,
as if the artist didn’t quite finish
the impression, the long toes like
exclamation marks,

a calling card from the wild
reminding me that I’m not the only
animal who lives here, that it’s
important to share, and to be
kind to the neighbors.