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 AT THE PARK

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)