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Musings #40

URBAN WILD

 

Two red and two black kits emerge

from their nearby den.  At my approach

mother becomes a decoy –

 

long, thick tail extended as she runs across

Hutchinson Street into a field, all the while

looking back at me,

 

kits long since disappeared down

between concrete slab and old shed.

I run away, disturbed

 

my marveling caused such reaction.

And more, such danger.

Remembering Murphy’s Hill years ago,

 

my son on a tricycle careening down

the road, steep and curved, and my self

alert to swerve before an oncoming car.

 

Remembering too, another fox, struck

crossing that hill road, intent

on a hen hunt in the Waremburgs’ red barn –

 

her pointed face, black eyes open, bloodied fur.

The kits remain hidden, waiting,

not yet weaned.

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