Coyote overextends himself Or Tricky dick in a fix

 

Coyote was watching Horse over on the mesa

eating tender shoots of bunch grass. Horse raised

his head, locked his legs and his penis extended

almost to the ground and released water

in a stream. Coyote’s eyes bulged.

‘Have to get one of those’ he thought, ‘impress

the hell out of those new young foxes by the water

hole.’ He ambled on up to Horse and said

“just noticed the length of your member—

could I borrow it?”

Horse snorted and said: “Never! Ever

try to mount a mare? You need this just to get close

to the circle of—”

“I was thinking more for show,”

Coyote interrupted, “need to attract the attention

of someone.”

Horse chewed and pondered,

swallowed the green morsels and noted:

“Seen men, once, put a plant shaft over their inches.

See that boojum plant in bloom? Above the white sage?

Take the mast and slide it over your shaft. That

should get the girls liquid! Now, go, before I kick you!”

“Okay, okay.” Coyote said, “I get the picture.”

He slunk away, then out of sight pranced quickly

to the towering plant. He looked. He bit the spike,

then chewed and chewed it until it fell. Proudly

he surveyed his work. Getting it on, however,

was no mean feat. He had to lie on his side and use

his feet to slide the hollow tube over his limp

hollow tube, the splinters making it limper.

Not exciting he thought, but remembered the goal,

the plan, the purpose of the suffering.

 

Finally, he slipped it off, getting splinters

the other way, then stood, put it on again,

then picked it up the middle in his teeth

and started towards the water hole. It was long

and awkward and knocked over a wasp’s nest

and some flew in the end. They stung. He dropped it

on the ground for a rest. He got it up,

but his member had swelled from the stings

of the wasps. It was never coming off.

When he got it to the water hole, he peeked

over the grease bush and saw two girls

standing talking, tails high, waiting for a male

to pass by. After weeks of grunting and groaning

Coyote got it up. He moved forward but it plowed

in the sand and stopped him, Now too heavy to lift.

Coyote remembered the time, however briefly

that his fur had been bright blue, like bluebird’s

and he remembered stealing the sun. Now he was just

a father, a husband, a bread winner and den digger,

no longer the idol of young females everywhere.

He would be again, if he could just move this

this pole thing. Simple physics. He levered it

up with another branch, but could not

move very fast. It looked like the girls were getting

ready to leave. He carefully picked it up in his teeth,

anchored by splinters on his penis. He trotted

towards the hole, then shouted, “Hey girls, look at

this!” but it fell from his mouth. Spirit, that hurt.

It bounced on the sand and pulled him down the slope

rolling, over and over. Splash!

The girls jumped in fear.

Conchita said, “What was that?” and Esmerelda answered,

“I don’t know, but there isn’t a female large enough—

the splinters alone—do you think he’s alright?” she asked,

as they watched Coyote roll into the water, dragged down

by his pole. “Perhaps he thinks he’s a swordfish. I don’t

want to know.”

“Oh, he worships the instrument

and not the juice, the lingam and not—” Esmerelda giggled.

and they trotted back to the safe den of their parents.

 

From underwater, Coyote watched their tan and trembling

haunches recede from sight. He felt himself press against

splinters—it was hard to breathe and he could not move

or get it off. He sighed and watched the bubbles rise,

then started to chew a hole in the side for air. Slowly

the small end of the plant raised above the surface.

Water gutted out, then sharp breathing sounds.

Gila woodpecker landed on the tip and started rapping

out his tune. Coyote groaned “get help” and started humming

in code, and woodpecker flew off straight to Gopher Tortoise,

whom he asked, “What can I do for this headache?”

GT chewed meditatively and answered, “Stop using your head

and start heading your use. Give up beetles.”

 

Coyote decided to pray. Shiva would know what to do,

being god of ecology and the young and the humble, like

Coyote himself. He might be away, though, in mysterious

India, directing traffic from an elephant or something wild.

So Coyote thought he would pray to Hermes instead.

He knew he’d get action from Hermes, the god of one-night

stands, the patron of thieves, liars, and footloose

wanderers, and the guide for souls on their way

to the underworld, but Hermes didn’t respond; perhaps

his nikes were wingless in those tight caves.

Maybe Artemis, the keeper of the mysteries of death

as genesis of life, the lady of the beasts, would know,

could tell him what he should do. He could picture

her, now, babe of the beasts, skirt decorated with bees,

garlands of grapes above her breasts, strings of pale

bulls balls below them. He yearned

for her, but she was in the depths

of her sanctuary, moaning about

the damage Coyote had done

to the sacred reputations

of animals, gods, girls,

myths, and words.