The Jackal Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

At night it secretly crept
into the village streets
while the villagers slept

moved along lamp posts from shadow
to shadow seemingly to hide
from the town’s cries or blows.

Each morning its harm
could be seen
in fur or feathers or torn

trash bags. Night after night
it moved about
hugging shadows behind lights

till early one morning, before
the day warmed, when a puddle of hair
was found (where tourist cars

on a busy road sped by)
so mangled and smudged on the tarmac
that no one dared flippantly say

this was the one who had,
unwittingly, found, after so many tries,
at last the ultimate shadow in which to hide.