Repopulation

The coyotes are back in town.

The street cats disappeared

—that’s how we first knew.

 

We see their shaggy forms

crossing streets at dusk and

at dawn and stalking deer.

 

They say that they bred

with wolves up north.

A half mile from the beach

 

one crosses in my headlights.

Not quite dog. I imagine lanky

coyotes racing labradors for

 

frisbees on damp sand and

stealing picnickers cheese

platters—the next evolution

 

of seagulls. See, the settlers’

fields are filling in, thick with

new growth trees, sheltering

 

plump woodchucks, rafters

of turkeys (of the two chicks,

only the jenny remains). And

 

then there’s the cats. Did

we think this world was ours

enough to protect our purring

 

pets? It was only ever on loan.

Rhode Island isn’t falling into

the sea, but we still owe.

 

So they’ve come back. Walking

on the beach, I could step on one,

curled up and perfectly hidden by

 

sand. Did they swim the bay

or take the bridges? Coyotes

galloping in the bike lane

 

reduce me to laughing tears.

Is this how our end times come?

Via the goddamn bike lane?