Chicago has packs of coyotes
that prowl the streets at night.
Cameras have caught them
on Jefferson, Ashland, and Kimball
loping through empty alleys,
looking for rats and discarded meat.
Researchers say that they are not
clustered in one part of the city,
they are as evenly distributed as
deep dish pizza or frozen yogurt.
But most have seen them
along the shoreline, near the waves.
I believe that coyotes pass on memories
like eye color or markings.
I can imagine what Chicago must
look like to them, the soft ground
a white concrete, the planetarium
some motionless animal in the dark.
The soft-skinned monsters in lycra,
running a hundred miles from the shore.