A hangdog coyote crosses the road
and lopes off into the scrub.
You can feel his wretchedness.
Behind him, a dried rabbit carcass,
too far gone to feed on,
and the mouse that got away.
Has it always been like that?
Maybe he’s just a loser among his kind,
barely surviving year to year.
Or is it bad luck? Who knows,
but clearly, he’s headed away from it all
and not toward anything hopeful.