Coyote Night
Adrian C. Louis
A flat tire ten miles
east of Pine Ridge
just past the Wounded Knee turnoff.
I disembark into Siberia
looking for Zhivago.
A non-stopping semi whines away
into a state of exhaustion.
This winter night is held
in silence as if a giant squid
fell upon the land and froze.
Scraggly pines try to feel
up the miserable moon.
Snapping twigs signal
sneaking-up coyotes.
Here there are no distant
garbage trucks,
no all-night neon.
I click the safety off my .22 Llama
and light a cigar.
Coyote eyes float
in deep-ass blackness.
Coyote eyes float
in deep-ass blackness,
Coyote eyes gloat
in black glass glee
and I laugh and return to my car.
It drives pretty good
on three tires.
