Coyote

It comes into the yard again,
trips the motion light.
Comes from the wood
behind the neighbor’s
rickety barn
and skulks
to the edge
of our busy road.
Skulks and shrinks back
from where cars do not care
about kids crossing
and motorcycles drag after midnight.
Where sirens
scream at all hours
for there is always a fire,
a crime,
a shattered hip,
a toddler
choking on a grape
the mother
neglected to slice.