Curiosity Killed the Coyote

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.

 He veered into hyperbole

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)