By Pete Tucker

It starts way distant,
Not sure just what it be.
It’s a sound forlorn, though.
Better said, eerie — hear the howl.

Many years back,
They weren’t even here
But they snuck into Jersey
Their screams made it clear — hear that howl.

Migrated from the north.
With that mournful cry
That sends shivers up the spine,
Pierces nighttime sky — hear the howl.

Why they left their homeland?
A storied phenom.
Thanks, but no thanks
Saskatchewan—hear the howl.

Not in favor with farmers,
These killers in the night
Wreak havoc in the sheep pen
And chickens all affright.

The  Virginia Whitetails
Have surely born the brunt.
Their fawns are helpless
With coyotes on the hunt — hear the howl.

Deer numbers have dwindled.
Quite notably.
A doe without fawns
Is a common sight to see — hear that howl.

But when they’re near the porch,
The gloves come off.
They have a steely glare.
They growl and they scoff — near the howl.

They’re staring in the window,
Which is hardly even right.
They see a rifle at the door jamb
And scamper toward the night — fear the howl.

They’re now a fact of life.
Expected company.
That mournful howl in the night
A hungry coyote’s decree —hear the howl.