Monday, September 2, 2013

Fox Red

Fox lies red and dead
on the road,
His wintery coat rusted
with blood.
His furry blonde testes
neatly displayed
Beneath his thick brush
Between hind legs
Elegantly crossed
In a final sleepy pirouette
Toes pointed down.

His teeth gleam in the early sun
His days of fun have run their course
No more phishing presence
On the  verandah of the sheep breeder
Whose lambs he breakfasted
So vigorously on
In the early dawn hours.
Her door mat shall remain
Where it is put
After her sturdy broom
Has swept the verandah clean.
A satisfied smirk lingers
On those deft lips
And cold incisors,
As if he was unaware
Even at that last moment
When the bullet’s impact
Smashed his knowing from this world
To the next as the hunter became prey.
Would the lambs have been so unaware
Of his intent in their final moments?

© Ilana Leeds

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