Central Park
Howard Winn
He watches from the disciplined underbrush,
canine eyes and sharp muzzle
taking in city sounds, sights and stench.
Fifth avenue hums with buses and taxis
as background music.
The other boundary,
Eighth Avenue, masquerading as
Central Park West in the blocks
along the park
that really matter in our elite scheme of things,
echoes those city sounds
as this displaced coyote contemplates
small dogs and pigeons
for a necessary metropolitan meal.
Panic prevails in the city.
Pigeon lovers,
owners of small dogs,
cry for help over cell phones to 911 and 311.
Blue uniforms converge,
followed by the animal warden.
Swimming, or loping along a bridge,
the beast has invaded the city.
Civilization mobilizes its forces
in the face of incursion by the untamed.
The creature with pricked ears
moves from bush to tree to undergrowth
and is cornered by cop and tranquilizer gun.
Doped and caged, nature will be banished
to the forever wild
parklands
of upstate New York.
Pigeons, small dogs and in-line skaters
are safe once again.