For all who will sit their place

Necessity

In a rasp of dry weeds, coyote
hunts for whatever will give
itself away. Hole to hole she
moves and stops, stops and
listens, listens and targets.

She turns her point-eared
head side to side, follows
the subtle burrow beneath,
tracks it in its blind motion
through acres of her hunger.

Motionless now, she rears
back in an arc and prepares
to pounce, forepaws first,
into the late spring dirt to
cave in and crush her quarry.



If she has preyed well, she
will pull it out by the head
with canid teeth and wolf
down her small prize in thirty
seconds then slowly move on.

The cruel plenty of summer
waits with waterless patience.
She will follow it underground
for sweet rabbits, gophers, squirrels,
taken in harsh shadows of the sun.

I will follow, too, for famine
claims no allegiance, sets its
table for all who will sit their
place, before or above, when
the season of necessity settles in.

Joseph Gallo
June 16, 2013