Author’s Note
This poem started where a lot of my more playful pieces begin: with a chain reaction of absurd images that refused to behave.
I didn’t sit down with a structure in mind. I just let the language run until it started building its own logic—one that doesn’t really care about realism, linear progression, or whether raccoons should realistically be wearing silk pajamas in the first place.
The “Space Chickens” at the beginning weren’t planned as a motif. They became one because they felt like the kind of strange, mildly accusatory presence that only makes sense in a world where camels are in parked cars and elephants are stored in jam jars.
From there, the poem just escalates.
Raccoons appear. Then llamas. Then the question of pajamas becomes a philosophical problem. Somewhere in the middle, the poem realizes it is no longer interested in consistency—it’s interested in momentum.
There’s a moment where the speaker tries to impose logic:
“Don’t be absurd.”
But by that point, absurdity has already won.
What I find interesting about this piece is that it still has a kind of emotional continuity even without narrative stability. It moves the way thoughts move when you’re tired, distracted, or laughing at your own internal associations—jumping from one idea to another through sound, memory, and cultural reference rather than logic.
Even the ending, with its sudden shift into pop culture and cinematic reference, is less about conclusion and more about acknowledgment. The poem becomes aware of itself mid-collapse and decides to lean into it rather than resolve it.
In that sense, it’s not really about raccoons.
It’s about the way language behaves when you stop trying to control it.
And sometimes, that’s where the most honest writing shows up.
— Rowan Evans
Raccoons in Silk Pajamas
Poetry by Rowan Evans
I had to get away
from the Space Chickens,
they were a little too judgmental—
always questioning what I wore,
shouting implied curses
spoken in cursive.
It was camels in parked cars,
elephants in jam jars…
Now it’s—
raccoons in silk pajamas,
and they’re not alone—
they’re riding llamas.
“Are the llamas
wearing silk pajamas?”
Don’t be absurd.
That’s the weirdest thing
I’ve ever heard—
llamas in pajamas?
No, just raccoons
and bananas.
I was once a
farmer on Pluto,
a librarian on Mars—
a poet amongst the stars.
Now I’m just
an astronaut in the ocean,
rolling in the deep.
Dude—
you just referenced Adele.
Like it is 2001 again.
It’s a Space Odyssey
Journey into the Hexverse…
See where it all began.
[Pluto Farmer]
A whimsical absurdist poem about being a certified weirdo, farming space carrots on Pluto, and refusing to fit into anyone else’s definition of “normal.”
If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]
Poetry by Rowan Evans 