Road Runner

Fall, 2022 / No. 50

At the restaurant we sit as if for the first time sitting 

together, considering the other across a table, 

across years. On the TV, the Road Runner theme song 

plays, but only you turn to catch a whirlwind of 

T.N.T. smoke, the scraps of coyote, the remnants of

a lesson never learned before the owner’s son flips 

the channel and you must turn back to us as if for 

the first time. The owner in the apron laughs, points

a pencil at the glaring screen, its residual static, that

song still vibrating, reminding us “That coyote is 

really a crazy clown,” as I try to order No. 19 without meat.