The Coyote

Under a full moon the Coyote prowls,
masked with noble purpose—a charade
with guise of liberation he steals all he can
a heart of feces—the blight of old Mexico

this time his fevering flesh wanted more—
a new debauchery—yet there are some lines,
man should never cross—

putrid pheromones drift from his stoma
a sickly smell—worsened
with the thickness of sultry night—

He’s been tracking his prey,
for some time now—a far—
cloaked by creosote—he has gazed—plotting

a thousand times he has traced her silhouette
with covetous eyes—provoking his salacious heart
lustful imaginations—reduce the man to a perro

filled with lascivious desire—the man,
is no longer in control—the animal emerges
base—primal—crude—salivating

the perro lunges—with sweaty paws,
he clutches—trying to silence her protest,
as she writhes—a freed scream wakes the night

innocence is stirred from her slumber
seeing the Coyote entwined with her madre—
the little dove acts without hesitance—
pecking out the Coyote’s eye

the perro retreats momentarily in pain
reaching to his side for his pistola—gone!
—the Coyote draws his machete–
as the girl spots his gun

La niña pequeña raises her tiny hands–and fires
The wretched Coyote falls
to his knees—to his face
madre y hija flee to the night

…for the border of a new day

Matthew – 2015
© 2015 This Mortal Flesh

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