The Coyote to Carl

  

                                                                                                    for Norah

in Yokut cosmogony
I’d formed them of earth
as I’d begat the Miwok 
by sowing feathers
& the Achomawi
of serviceberry sticks — 
as for the Tamayame 
I’d created the heavens
& for the Klamath 
I’d cheated Thunder
(in a game of dice)
to procure them fire —
nations having fallen all
to pathogen or sword
& thereupon in extirpation
was my rivalry the wolf
marked – maligned  
& harried nigh extinct —
but enemies – wanting
(as such with gods)
warrant manufacture 
in that wolves expunged
occasioned a void —
& hatred abhors a vacuum
wherefore my diaspora
(canis non grata errant)
in an agronomic lebensraum
plumes of scorn in wake 
& smoldering antipathy      
stoked to holocaust by Twain
when he labeled me sick
cowardly – slinking—
a repulsive symbol of want

such disconcerting turn
(from piety to parasite)
my music from chorus to din —
& on Erev Purim ’31
just as Mein Kampf 
was becoming renowned
the States waged a war of its own —
an offensive of traps
agency-hunters and hounds 
predacides and mange —
unrepentant genocide 

forsaken as was your Job
blighted and cursed
vilified – bountied – baited 
my progeny gassed
ripped from their dens
& stomped – clubbed
or torn apart by dogs —
& yet through it I’ve endured
(numbers unremittent)
by pragmatic versatility 
& the genomic trip
of a primal genitive switch
bloodied – perhaps 
yet tempered of strife
& much the wiser for it —
my clade growing legion
to colonize Chicago
Miami – New York
where you’ll now hear my cry —  
that same relict lament
I’d sung among the kivas 
of a vibrant Chaco Canyon 
to a progression of stars
having yet to be copernicized                  
& in Tenochtitlán too
where I’d been worshiped
as Huehuecóyotl —  
deity of verse and song
patron of language and art

such contemptuous distain 
derives by way of envy —  
an insatiable pathosis 
that devours from within
& once your vacant streets 
have also fallen silent
my voice will still be heard
by those who may remain

& again – your gods I’ll become 

[David R. Cravens is a former Central Methodist University English Professor whose writing has appeared in a wide range of literary journals and anthologies both at home and abroad. He lives in the Missouri Ozarks.] 

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