The Coyotes are Calling
In the canyon they’re calling
Every dog in his doggie bed
Has perked his ears up
Wondering, jealously
What all the excitement is about
Knowing their dog doors will let them out
But only into another contained space
The yips in the distance
Come into my window
And wake me from the trance
Of rehearsed motion
I am a performer sheet music
Following a grid of patterns
Watching, hoping for surprises
My fingers are busy
Twisting an ice tray
Anticipating the satisfaction
That comes with every crack and pop
I wait for these sensations
I wait and depend on them
This is what I have:
Songs that give me shivers,
I listen to them as I wait in traffic
Sleepy Saturdays,
I find decadence in unassigned hours
The wind against my bicycle,
I choose its novelty over my automobile
Leashed walks deliver a set amount of thrill
Canned food a set amount of vitality
Meanwhile the coyotes call and
I can imagine their motion
Chests moving in and out quickly in pursuit
Of sustenance and life
A wild movement and balance
There are locks on my doors
There are coats in my closet
There are credit cards in my pocket
I have never gone one hour
Without knowing for absolute sure
That I have many foods to choose from
Many clothes to color my days
The squeaking toys mean very little
Knowing the coyotes run right outside
Knowing the foam is building behind their lips
As they push through chapparal
In a footrace with the great wonder of death
Calling through my window
Disturbing the deep slumber of my amenities