Wile E.

Slinking out of
An old mythology
There is a new agent
Of chaos
Amongst the flowerbeds
And manicured lawns
Of this tucked away
Retirement home

A trickster figure
Slipping nooses
While weathering
The tranquilizer darts
Of excessive authority

No longer
Do squirrels or quail
Linger on the lawn
Like they own something

The cold golden stare
And fixed grin
A necessary reminder
That life hasn’t turned
Completely inside out
Upside down
And all too easy

Veterans living here
Know better than anyone
That ecosystems
Lacking the dance of death
Are just wars
Waiting to happen
So they greet
This toothy marauder
With a salute
And reserved smile
All their own