ode to a carcass in his throat

the gray brush invites in: a tongue with still fresh mouse bits

i can smell Coyote howling in the distance,

fur and shards of bone and splayed open veins,

pressed to his dry, sticky mouth.

i can feel his heavy, implacable breaths,

having eaten a meal that filled no stomach,

but kept him sharp for months.

a yodeling, ululating song spills

from his arid throat like a dry well

with droplets slowly bleeding through.

his call echoes towns over and is mostly disregarded—

he is mostly disregarded, until he’s at your door,

and he is hungry like a man is.