by Alison McKenzie
The Coyotes called a meeting this morning,
Started at 3am, went on till 5am.
Though I'm not entirely sure of the agenda,
There were some obviously heated exchanges
Regarding the current state of fog in the desert,
And the way it was turning all of them
I can't be certain,
But they came awfully close to my door,
Petitions in hand, no doubt,
To see of they could sway me to
Ask God to knock it off.
The thing is, they've been purposely
Kept out of the loop
Regarding the chem trails,
And humanity's general stance
That the world belongs to bankers and rockstars,
The Rockerfellers and the Rothchilds,
And their accessibility is
Simply out of my reach.
Posted on 02/02/2015
Copyright © 2023 Alison McKenzie
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 02/02/15 at 03:50 PM|
Ali, thanks for sharing some local goings-on - :). Nothing quite like that kind of early morning chorus and it sounds like they had a lot to talk about. A light touch with a thoughtful ending.
|Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 02/02/15 at 09:47 PM|
Clever and intelligent. Yes, I recall you previously mentioning the desert fog on your FB page.
|Posted by Ken Harnisch on 02/03/15 at 03:40 PM|
Hmmm...I'm beginning to wonder if nature isn't reclaiming some of the old ground She lost to us humans over the past few millennia. They found a coyote in the Bronx the other day. The Bronx! And yeah, they seem to be getting closer all the time, Alison.
|Posted by Eli Skipp on 02/06/15 at 05:03 AM|
I love coyotes and I love your poem, it made me want to write something too, so here you go:
This morning we
called a council outside of
your little neighborhood
while no one else
We do this once in a while —
once, a while ago, we did this
in the daylight instead.
Once, a while ago, people
remembered that we were more
than seethings masses to be
shot from helicopters and
poisoned in backyards.
the bringers of fire and the
makers of death and the
mourners of our lost sons
to our friends the crows.
the trickster spirits of lost
people, with human voices and
universal souls and still,
to remind you, we
laugh like children
in the gloaming.
Now we meet early in
the dawn and the mist settles
on the briefly green grasses
and we carry our noises into
your little windows hoping