Urban Coyote

For the creatures of the night...

This urban coyote
Pays a visit early morning
Under a sharpened scythe of a moon
Creeps round my bushes
Like he's moving in

The cats that screeched under my window
Have gone to tussle on other grounds
And leave the coyote his domain
Rich in new delicacies
While he crouches
Silent and imminently present

He carries his daggers
In a pouch out front
Ready when the moment flashes
Like the silver reflection
His blade gives off
As it passes through the night air

Grim thrusts make crimson droplets
Splatter the grassy canvas like Pollard wanted
A random purposeful pattern
Blots and streaks settle gently in the display
He appraises his work momentarily, finishes
Yelps his quiet triumph and wanders away

Author's Note

All comments and suggestions welcome.