There was something about the noise
he made tonight
that got to me.
Something about the curdled yowl,
what seemed insensate rage
that came choking out
a rising-toned flood of staccato yelps
Or something I imagined
about his eyes, gleaming cold
pinning some imagined quarry.
It is his nature
to prey on weaker things:
I understand that.
It is wrong to ascribe to him
a moral sense,
a willing violation
of some imagined ethical code.
It asks too much of him.
But tonight it was too much.
His manic yelps, incomprehensible
and fervid, sneering sniffle snarls,
his coiled-spring choking throat
as if his claws scraped blackboard.
Tonight it was too much,
and I spent the evening
listening to the coyote instead,
a clear healthy song to wash away the debate.