Thursday, September 11, 2008


The following is a poem I wrote seven years ago, tomorrow.


Wylie E. Coyote slams into the wall.
There is a hint of fire and a puff of smoke.
I am too far away to hear the sound,
but his imprint is seared into the fa├žade of steel.

Not to be outdone, the Road Runner
beep beeps with the world watching. That Road
Runner, he always has to outdo the coyote, so
he waits and comes in at an angle, knowing
the cameras are trained on him.
Well, that's it for ACME,
headquarters shaken, smoked, burned, then collapsed
like a Hollywood implosion.
The world preempts
its programming and turns to the Cartoon Network.
Nobody bemoans the coyote, though he started it,
all you see is his outline, burning.
Then, the reruns,
slo-mo, amateur video, still photography, from all angles-
there is the Road Runner, you can't see his face,
but you know, you just know . . .
All those years
of chase have taken their toll, and then, all he knows,
that damn coyote is gone, stealing the thunder,
only today he will not rise from the ashes
or step out of the hole, dusting himself off,
the road runner is a proud bird and he will have none of it.
The world is watching, cursing the coyote
so here he comes, beep beep, knowing this
is his last run. All we see is the fire
and the feathers flying, falling, phenomenal.

A split second of silence and the world as we know it
comes crumbling to the ground.

New York City September 12, 2001

©2001 William Dickenson Cohen


Jill said...

If my memory serves, you also wrote a poem about someone who worked at the WTC who also bought a tie from you...

Bill Cohen said...

Yes, Jill is correct. I actually like that one better. I posted it here two years ago to remember the 5th anniversary of the attacks. You can find it in archives or here;


Charles Gramlich said...

Definitely heartfelt.