The Whirlwind Review
Issue 1

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Kyle Laursen

Cafe Coyote

This poem does not begin with a feeling-tone or image. This poem begins by chance at
the Café Coyote. You wearing a buffalo skin robe, me in a blue tuxedo. The band plays a
slow peyote song and the little people dance. I look you in the eye and say: honey, you
look familiar. You laugh and pull your hair back in a ponytail. We speak in a secret
language. We trade eyes. I place my hand on the small of your back. The moon takes a
detour and makes love to the sun.









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