Three ’coons come at his garbage. He be cross,

I figuring porcupine & took Sir poker

unbarring Mr door,

& then screen door. Ah, but the little ’coon,

hardly a foot (not counting tail) got in with

two more at the porch-edge

and they swirled, before some two swerve off

this side of crab tree, and my dear friend held

with the torch in his tiny eyes

two feet off, banded, but then he gave &

shot away too. They were all the same size,

maybe they were brothers,

it seems, and is, clear to me we are brothers.

I wish the rabbit & the ’coons could be friends,

I’m sorry about the poker

but I’m too busy now for nipping or quills

I’ve given up literature & taken down pills,

and that rabbit doesn’t trust me