What if Wile E. Coyote had Caught the Road-Runner

He seemingly was able to stretch
Beyond himself with a sudden lunge
To grab that smart-aleck bird's throat.
Its terrified eyes bulged outward
As he twisted its neck.

"Snap!"

And it was over.
No longer would he ever have to listen to
That annoying "beep-beep, beep-beep."

He strutted proudly home
With the carcass slung over his shoulder,
Flopping it onto the kitchen counter
For his wife to pluck and prepare.
The dinner was a disappointment;
The meat tendon and muscle,
Tough as the pads of feet
That have run on asphalt all their life.
Yip and Yap, their two pups
Complained so loudly
That his wife made a phone call
To have a pepperoni pizza delivered.

That evening his old lady gave him "that look."
He glanced up as if he could sense
An anvil plummeting down toward his head.
"That look," was always a preamble to her
Next suggestion.  "Let's sit down and talk."
Such talks always presaged some serious matter
Such as another pregnancy
Or bills that were past due.

"I've been patient while you pursued your goal,"
She began, "I've worked full-time,
Basically raised the pups by myself
While you were out somewhere doing your own thing,
Wasting your life chasing that damned bird.
Don't you think it's time you took a job that pays,
That puts better meat on our table
Than that gristly carcass you dragged home today.
You know, I have my own dreams too.
Oprah says that a woman shouldn't let marraige
And family obligations
Stand in her way of realizing them.

Here," she said, handing him a folded newspaper.
He got that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach,
A feeling similar to the time when he'd just run off the edge
Of a cliff, his momentum still keeping him aloft
For an instant before gravity pulls him down.
She'd circled an ad in the Help Wanted section.
"Look," she pointed.  "Acme is hiring.
Third shift, but the job pays well.
You've got a lot of experience
Working with Acme products."

*    *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *  *  *   *   *

He's been with Acme for seven years now.
"Lucky seven," he muses sardonically.
He started on the loading dock.
He's worked his way up to lead man
On the line that cranks out
Acme's boxing glove in a jack-in-the-box.
A couple of years ago management called him in
And told him, politely but firmly
That he'd related his stories
About his pursuit of the Road-Runner
Far too often, and that nobody cared anymore.
His wife gave junior college a try,
But just couldn't handle the course load.
She's back working at the "Stop & Sniff" again.

His life has become a coyote-ugly existance
That he can't escape by gnawing his leg off.
Now, when he steps out onto the loading dock
For a smoke, and to gaze wistfully up at the moon
That he used to sit on the hill and howl at,
He again hears that faint echo of a "beep-beep."
Feelings of despair suddenly overwhelm him.
He knows now that it's happiness that's eluded him,
And he'll never get another chance to pursue it.