Curiosity Killed the Coyote
Rte. 8, 18 October 2014
So now I’m lying here. Near dead—
Confusion reigning in my head.
I know the day is wet—and know
I must most carefully go
Where I’ve not been before.
Unknown. From old coyote lore—
And from parental barks I heard
When just a pup—I soon inferred
That caution is survival’s key.
Today I found it so for me.
I’d never felt a hunger so
Insistent that it made me go
Somewhere unknown. But then—today—
The sky and rain seemed odd—so strange—
That I roamed far outside my range
And found myself near creatures who
Could move so fast—as if they flew
Like hawks. But these were on the ground
And moved with such a roaring sound
That I was curious. Mistake.
Among the worst that I could make.
I drifted in—a closer look—
The hardened ground just shuddered, shook.
Impossible, perplexing speed—
It would be all that I would need
To run down every meal. A gift
From who?—or what?—to be so swift?
And with these visionary dreams
I felt myself aloft, it seems,
And saw my certain life conclude,
My curiosity subdued.
And I no longer seem to care
That I am going. Faces stare
From creatures roaring swiftly by.
My thoughts grow dark—and then the sky.
While trying to dishearten me.
Shakespeare Couplet: Romeo and Juliet (23)
“My only love sprung from my only hate!”
Cries Juliet, who contemplates her fate. (1.5)