Bobcat Territory

The people here try to raise chickens for eggs
a money saving venture in which
they often recoup the initial cost of chicks
but not the cost of feed
or cost of warming lights
or chicken wire
or sleepless nights listening to the closer
closer   closer       prowl and howl of drifting coyote
or the guttural and eirie growl of the indigent feline families.
The bobcats prowl the farms watching for the night the headlights don’t return at dusk,
No more than three days past its new, the moon is best;  pale and friendly to the hunt.
Like gossip in a workplace they work themselves between the wires
The carnage complete before it has begun.
Too late the headlights break across the stacked hay and metal fences.

The family of egg eaters tumble laughing into the house.
Mother looks one dirt road over where last year a man planted two palm trees that tower garishly above the grandfather cactus she loves, and ticks her tongue in annoyance
Disliking.
Unaware this imported arboreal talent provides an island ambience
to the grateful Bobcat picnic of plump hen and rangy rooster.

Their futile feathered frenzy finished before the bright light shone
The other hens discuss the coop combat in quieter, and quieter tones
Until plumped and justified in their stories of quiet clucks and bucks they roost
Contented they weren’t the chosen ones.

Innocent of all but nature the local kitties lick and clean their paws.

CC