Airship

A man wielding a machete passed the living room window. Thinking nothing of it—city living, film shoot, raccoons and skunks and coyotes, overgrown agave—I returned to my work. Then, the startling din of helicopter blades began, repeating like a stuck record. Louder and louder the sound grew as the police chopper lowered into the neighborhood.

“Drop the weapon.

“Go to the sidewalk.

“Hands on your head,” came from a megaphone-toting cop. The officer could’ve been standing beside me in the living room. Three cars, sirens blazing, raced down the road, one after the other, adding to the cacophony. As they passed, the sirens dropped low, then receded. The helicopter rose into the sky, leaving in its wake only empty tree limbs. 

I tried to search online what had happened, but there were no articles about the incident, nor any posts on the community surveillance apps. For a moment, quiet returned to the neighborhood.

No. 046

Coyote

On the moonlit asphalt there came a coyote. Slender, slim-footed he scampered down the road, paws lightly grazing the ground, appearing almost to float across it as he stalked some prey. Then, he stopped beneath the hazy glow of a yellow stoplight. Ears perked up at the sound of my footsteps across uneven rocks. Slowly, he turned his head, eyes locking onto mine immediately. For a moment beneath the moon we considered each other. Then: a car alarm; a barking dog; a laugh from a party in the apartment across the street. My head turned at the noise, and upon returning to the spot beneath the lamp, found the coyote had already disappeared back into the night.

No. 011

Bifurcation

A rupture: knife slices cloth, or worse. The seconds that separate conscious moments. Stolid, impassive window above my desk: peace broken by two birds, arced across the sky, visible to me behind a fluorescent glare for only a few seconds.

No. 003