Night Coyote
       

            I've come to protect the chickens,
                        to lock the shed, brush the cow

and sing to her before bed. Our father said

            The thing to do with trouble is look
                        it in the eyes but the stars clatter

like tin. The cow—I wish she'd bellow.

            Our father said, Never find yourself
                        alone with danger, meaning men.

Blackball eyes that don't flinch or blink.

            Now trained on me, somewhere between
                        what they want and becoming what they want.

I wish the chickens had never been born.

            Like our father, wish I had been a boy.
                        Bright loudness turns into a howl,

a lesson in how to announce the night.

            The coyote keeps its teeth. Lowers
                        its head into flickering shed light.

Growl is a hum is a released bow string

            against my ribs. As he backs away,
                        I promise I will not tell my brother

what he will become, or that we were raised

            to fear it. His laughter cracks
                        with adamant future; a warning.

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Copyright © 2020 Tennessee Hill All rights reserved
from Beloit Poetry Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission