Dead Coyote pup in the road
that had followed his mother many times before.
Why have you fallen prey to the vehicles of man?
An insatiable appetite from easy meals,
tiny purse dogs and lazy fat cats…
Where will your spirit go, trampy pup?
Will it reside with thieves and underdogs,
forced to the tree peppered outskirts of ravaged lands…
Or in the mowed alien fields of suburbia?
Yes, they will help you survive little dog.
The pleasures are many,
easily taken by all who reside.
Without proper gratitude to upturned trees,
and extinct wild grasses…
never again dancing with the breeze.
One Crepe Myrtle
Two Crepe Myrtles
3 Crepe Myrtles
Four… Knockout Rose.
You are a shadow in the night,
whispered into misread warnings of dawn people.
Yelping and screaming,
you dispel such nonsense…
only to fuel fear in reputation.
You don’t belong here little coyote,
necessities are better off respected.
Follow your mother,
back to the wood.
For I fear to be the only mourner…
as the turkey vultures rejoice in your demise.