For Wile E. Coyote, APETITIUS GIGANTICUS
"A fanatic is one who redoubles his effort when he has forgotten his aim."
—George Santayana
1
Monday he comes home squashed flat by a locomotive,
Tuesday, his hair burnt to a crisp. Friday, a week—no bird, no prey,
and nothing in the medicine cabinet to treat the anvil lodged
in his head except for Tylenol Cold and Flu.
2
Backstage after his daughter's Tenth Grade violin recital
he overhears her talking to her BFF. "We've had KFC
for supper every night this week," she says. "My dad is such a loser."
When she says the word, she presses her fingers to her forehead
in the shape of an L.
3
The spring catalogue arrives with the chirp of awakening birds.
Earthquake pills, TNT, a catapult, quick-drying cement,
dehydrated boulders, a boomerang, and free with every $100 order,
a rocket sled and thirty miles of railroad tracks.*
* some assembly required
4
The nights are long. His hind legs stiffen up in his sleep,
and his right hip hasn't felt the same ever since
those jet-propelled tennis shoes blasted him through the center
of the earth to China.
5
The rims of the canyons gleam crimson as he draws a curve
in the right line of the road, continuing it across the steppe
into a rock face. He then paints a lifesize picture of a tunnel
on the sandstone, and hides behind a soaptree yucca,
a copy of The Chomsky Reader in his lap. Hours pass.
The last ruddy rays of sunset brighten momentarily
before yielding to twilight. Reward for his patience finally comes
when the bird races by in a storm of dust, but instead of smashing
into the rock, he runs right through the trick picture as if it's a real tunnel.
The foiled predator again, he gasps in the gathering might of the truth:
the bird is enchanted.
6
On the family room sofa his wife eases the thread through the needle
and stitches his tail back into place. Now and then she stops
to look up at the shimmering sage in the backyard. "It's not just the kids,"
she says with a throb in her voice. "The neighbors are talking, too."
7
It's the customer service as much as the good line of credit
that keeps him coming back to Acme Corp.
Coughing red soot from another day's avalanche,
he asks Sue, the refund department operator,
about her father's knee surgery, swimming in Lake Wallenpaupack,
her butterfly garden of bee balm and lilac, and on the other end
of the phone, her curious about life in the Southwest, and if it really is
what they call a dry heat.
8
During his lunch break in the shade of the cottonwoods he listens to
The Ultimate Secrets of Total Self-Confidence by Dr. Robert Anthony
on his iPod. Closing his eyes, he visualizes the world he wants
to live in: the bird browning in the oven, legs tied together,
skin brushed in melted butter like an oasis on the other side of a great,
uncrossable desert, and by late afternoon, the kids probing the tender curves
with gentle forks, a mysterious passion on their faces.
9
...Next up on 'Coast to Coast AM' we've got a caller from the Southwest,
a Mr. W.C., who—now get this—claims to know a magical roadrunner
that can pass through walls....
10
The Southern Belle disguise has arrived. Inside the package
is a handwritten note from Sue. This should do the trick.
In front of the mirror he tries on the saucy red dress. Puckers his lips
and turns to admire the ruffled bodice. The costume comes
with a velvet bonnet and matching handbag large enough to conceal
a stick of dynamite.
Standing behind him, his wife starts to cry. "Who are you?" she says.
"I don't know you anymore."
He wiggles his eyebrows. The bird is good as cooked.
