As a favor I sweep raccoon poop from my landlady’s roof

 

As a favor I sweep raccoon poop
from my landlady’s roof

In return she mixes me a hot toddy
and shows the gangway constructed
by her husband Cyrus, a series of planks
from the oak tree to her kitchen window
where raccoons enter and ransack her shelves.
In spring they bring cubs.
Cyrus fed them from his fingers.
He collapsed right here at the table. His heart.

Owls come to that same window.
They stare but never enter.
Last week an owl brought a dead vole
with the head removed. An offering.
She could hear Cyrus laughing.
There’s an echo in this house.
Cyrus used to tell her to touch her toes
and then he’d touch her from behind.
They had no children, he couldn’t.

Once a cub jumped a stove burner
and caught fire. She threw a pot of tea.
The cub vaulted out the window.
Probably died. When animals die
you never see them. Almost never.
Sometimes at night Cyrus wakes her,
whispers this or that. Silly stuff,
and then he chuckles. The echo.

That poop is toxic, you know.
Enough hot toddies, don’t you think?
Now go away before I touch my toes.

…..

First published in Rat’s Ass Review. Thank you Roderick Bates, editor.
Note: For years I had an interesting landlady. Old, sometimes flirtatious, sharp as a tack. Many stories.