National Poetry Month--Coyote on the Telephone

Here is the fourth in my sequence of Coyote poems for #NationalPoetryMonth, "Coyote on the Telephone." I wanted to write this poem to demonstrate the power of Coyote's seductive voice and persuasive words.

Coyote, of course, is famous for his use of the word. He can talk himself out of almost anything, which is good for him because he usually talks himself into all kinds of trouble, taking someone else with him who may not be as adept at sidestepping the negative consequences when they come slamming down.


COYOTE ON THE TELEPHONE

Coyote calls you on the phone,

asks, “Where have you been all my life?”

in a voice that climbs inside your head

and crawls down your backbone

to your hips. He asks, “When

can I see you again?” Your brain

says never, but his voice stops it

and with some other part

of your body, you reply, “Whenever

you want.” Coyote laughs, low and sultry,

and you shiver, knowing

how much trouble you’re in.

You call Coyote. You’ve sworn

you won’t, not again, but your fingers

press the numbers

on their own without the brain’s

supervision. Your brain’s not

doing too well when Coyote

is near--or even the thought

of him. When you say, “I shouldn’t

have called; I swore I wouldn’t,”

he laughs that way he has

that sends your synapses flying

and your skin growing too hot

and tight for your bones

that are melting as he growls.

You know you ought to hang up

and your finger sits above

the TALK button throughout

the conversation but only pushes

it after the dial tone kicks in.

You never thought you were weak

before. Coyote’s taught you

what you never wanted to learn.

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