Four Poems


Coyote Past Sunset

Finally, after a day of tailing trucks,
the highways loud with tire whine and bumper glare,
he got onto a blacktop running south to Mexico,
just him in the pickup, and off in the desert, dust devils
swirling through greasewood, ruffling vultures squatting
on fence posts, wings spread, sunning their black capes
as dust skipped past them whipping up grit around the odd horse
or pronghorns grazing with cattle, as he sped on
past hundreds of miles of barbed-wire fences.

Want to read more?
Please login.
New to Narrative? sign up.
It's easy and free.