I am a genius by trade. – W.E. Coyote

With you afling, afang, not yet nonplussed,
Nemesis Roadrunner, Swift-footed, Taker-of-three-
Forks, strange kinetic fellow, animated
Character, that plumed cuckoo, Bird
Thou never wert, sticks out his tongue, waves, peels
Out, and you wrap up a pileated
Bust of smoke. And now? What now? “I must
Dream up a brilliant master strategy,

Ingenious, daring.” Here’s to you, Coyote.
Here’s to Giant Fly Traps, Quick-Dry Cements,
To ACME Robots, glues, kites, keyhole saws,
DO-IT-YOURSELF TORNADOS, female bird
Impersonations, anvils, Earthquake Pills, . . .
And to the selective repeal of natural laws,
Schemus Backfiribus, a reverse Quixote:
Art turns to mere truth, what it represents,

Then, proven to be true, it turns fictitious.
Roadrunner goes right over the painted span,
You fall to the canyon floor, and from the phony
Tunnel comes the train, engineered by the bird,
Your foison, fantasy, feather in your cap,
The better life, your failure—like my own.
Wile E. Everyman. Come, Trickster, let us
Feast on our clay chicken, our tin can.