Foxed
Monday was a mini-crater in the lawn,
a tiny shell-hole
haloed with soil.
Tuesday was primal scream night,
twisting spines with your soundtrack
to rumpy-pumpy in the shrubs.
On Wednesday, you graced the path
with the benediction of your droppings
to say Keep Off.
Two pinpricks just outside the blanket
of security lights were Thursday, shining
unwavering and nerveless.
On Friday, not a whisker, except our print
of Jorrocks at the Hunt exhibiting a sly leprosy,
a rash of brown and unexpected spots.
First Published in The North, January 2021, Issue 65