🦠 Post-Apocalyptic Procyonid Plague

After the nuclear sands stopped glowing
We finally removed the poison from the ground
Huddled in our lab burning candles from both ends
Planting samples and tenderly caring for each kernel
Waiting with baited breath for every
Monocot sheath that cracked the soil
A promise of new growth a garden for all to share

But humanity was far from the only survivor
For every night they come in their masks
Their grubby hands grasping at anything they can grab
With no consideration for the decades of work we poured–
Poured into every drought resistant, carbon replenishing
Stalk that snaps in two under the strain of their rotund bodies
Until they plop down on their ring tailed asses
Bewildered as if discovering gravity the very first time
Still gripping as many ears as their paws can hold

The rascals make mockery of our relocation drones
Napping in the nets like hammocks before making
The fifteen mile trek back to the cornfields of plenty
Each exiled bandit bringing three new friends
Back to witness with their own eyes
This apparent procyonid paradise we’ve planted

The elders say with naivete of old age
“How wonderful that after the end we still
Share our world with these creatures”
Preaching their pacifism to all creation
Their gray eyes on our fields of plenty
Despite the sight that appears each night
This post-apocalyptic procyonid plague
While we labor in our labs to the symphony
The crunching corn, cracking stalks and the sound
Of another greedy raccoon hitting the ground