Wednesday, April 27, 2016

National Poetry Month--Coyote at the Park

The 8th poem in the serialized chapbook of Coyote poems that I'm posting for #NationalPoetryMonth is "Coyote at the Park." In this poem, for a change, Coyote is the one being watched while unaware of the watcher.

As I thought more and more about the bad boy archetype in fiction, TV, and movies, I came to realize that it has its root in class. The bad boy is always an outsider, poor, working class, rough-edged, not one of the privileged class. He may have found a way to make himself wealthy, like Gatsby, but he always carries that taint of the interloper. He has charm, intelligence, and bags of sex appeal, but he's still from the wrong side of town.


Coyote sits and waits.
He’s asked you to meet him
here where you’ll feel safe,
as if
anywhere were safe
with Coyote.
You spot him
as soon as you enter
through the stone arches,
all that dark shining
in the sunlight.
Teenaged girls in tight pastels
giggle and flirt
with more trouble
than they could ever handle,
and Coyote sends them
off with a wink.
He’s in a good mood,
waiting for you to come
as you promised,
benevolent predator
refusing the prey
on a whim or the hope
of something better.

From behind the stone,
you watch his long lithe body
stretched on the wooden bench
as if to soak up the heat
stored in its slats,
grace unconscious
of your secret admiration.
Coyote is a contented man
today when you are expected
any moment
before he realizes
you’re gone.

Published in Heart’s Migration (Tia Chucha Press, 2009)

No comments:

Post a Comment