Peering out my kitchen window
Late at night
As I often do in hope of
Possums, raccoons, even armadillos
Or at the very least
A random feral feline
In search of kibble,
Suddenly I dimly see
Looming in dark shadows
A troubling torso
(Though I hope I am mistaken).
On the corner of the patio,
Come perhaps to drink
At the water bowl I keep there,
A dog-like shape that may not be a dog.
After years of hiding in the countryside
Coyotes now have come into the city,
Drawn by food, by shelter,
By easy pickings for the taking,
Sometimes in the guise of garbage,
Sometimes cats, sometimes puppies,
Even children left unguarded.
They’re not called prairie wolves on whim.
©2022 John I. Blair, 7/16/2022
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