Coyote

my parents’ house was on top of a hill
a sand mound surrounded by farm fields
in all directions
and at night sometimes you could hear
packs of coyotes
high-pitched yelping and barking and yowling
the sound travelling clear through the night
as they danced and celebrated a fresh kill
a rabbit or a barn cat
meat shorn from bone as the pack yipped in country dark
soybean fields
thin legs and thin snout stained red
looking black from the moon
they ate and chittered the kill
over rural Wisconsin

I was at my parents’ house for some reason,
not sure why
Maybe just a visit
It was 3 AM and I woke up on the couch
I went to the back porch to have a cigarette

The lights were on and illuminated part of the backyard
I slid open the sliding glass slider, stepped out as I drew a cigarette to my lips, then slid closed the slider behind me.

And a coyote howled at me

I knew it was at me
He saw me and gave this
piercing and baleful howl
To me
Loud and high and strident

The blood in my fingertips retreated back
into the torso
and my pupils sharpened hard and quick
as I watched the boundry where the porch lights ended
and the wild began
Some primacy took me as I watched
the edge of my world
surrender to that thing in the darkness

I never saw him
His howl cut to my animal-man instincts
He left without incident
Running over croplands and sniffing for prey
Ever under moonlight

After about two minutes of terror I lit my cigarette,
and my parents’ obese Orange cat jumped onto the porch
He looked at me with huge eyes
“The fuck was that!?”
I don’t know man
He figure-eighted my legs a couple of times
“I’m glad you’re around”

The next day I put on dress pants and sat
in a cubicle to earn money. I wanted to tell somebody the story, but coyotes are everywhere.