Coyote

the howl echoes off the hills,

the basin echoing visions of the

east even though he’s out west…

 

alone, bored, crying, dejected,

all inside, the outside always stoic…

 

he’s 38 years old

but he’s kissed a girl,

several in fact…

 

he’s not a manwhore mind you…

 

his internal monologue runs constant,

a perpetual microfiche of sullen events

even though he’s the picture

of elder millennial success…

 

college degree, no criminal record,

a long career in retail hell and

mechanical aptitude that came

with time and practice…

 

experience points as the

doyen role-play gamers

would call it…

 

and so now he traffics in

brine, flow back, and oil,

for half a decade now…

 

and the nights…

 

and the nights run long…

 

the nights run really long…

 

and so do the lyrics from the

sad songs, only sad songs since

he’s not fond of waltzes and

neither are selling this year,

or any year before or after in fact…

 

and he questions himself,

even though his eyes are

telling him, you should’ve

crashed hours ago…

 

but this is a profit-driven

economy, and the clock is

the employee’s true master…

 

and so he ambles outside,

around the tank farm,

around the pump house,

around the offload lanes,

just to appear busy,

just to remain awake…

and the howl again echoes,

long and forlorn,

close but likely far off,

maybe from the shelter belts,

maybe not…

 

and he quietly says to the coyote,

you and me both my friend,

you and me both…

 

maybe it’s time for a sea change

even as he spins the album for

the thousandth time…

 

maybe at the end of the day,

he’s a lost cause…

 

maybe it’s all in his mind

and maybe something is

coming round the bend…

 

and maybe he’s already dead

and he’s a caught in a perdition

where’s repeating his own

forlorn, pointless existence…

 

and the coyote’s howl is the only

real thing keeping him company…

 

yet nautical twilight is coming

in the east like always,

nature’s clock running down to zero…

 

lap eight halfway done,

lap nine starts tonight…

 

his life, a sine wave of floatation,

a cosine wave without meaning…

 

hope today is a good day,

even though Paul Harvey

has passed on…

 

but the howling coyote

tells him otherwise…

 

you and me both, my friend