Monday, 30 April 2012

Two Fox Tales

The Committal

We buried the fox cub a little before dusk,
heaving him from where he fell
to sprawl, as though in sleep,
between the dustbin and the wall.
Sharp-nosed he was, still fiery-eyed,
his flanks unflinching warm;
and the ripe earth gaped as we eased him down
where his belly blazed as white as any lie.

I found him where he’d crawled
and hunkered down to breathe his last,
a splash of red against the green
I was not used to see.
That morning he’d ran fine and free
and stared into the sun;
but he was stony dead and still
as those dull stones
you piled upon his head.
‘They’ll keep him safe and sound,’ you said.
‘No dog will dig him up.’

And no dog has or will;
he rests there still
on the lawn’s near edge
where blackbirds strut and stab.
That first night, though, when I woke
to fret and stare into the dark,
I’d swear there was a scuffling sound
a stone’s throw from the wall;
and then, across the hill, I thought
I heard some creature bark.

© Abigail Wyatt

Daring cub curls up in schoolboy's bed for a SNOOZE
Abigail is the 2012 winner of the Lisa Thomas Poetry Award. Her collection, 'Old Soldiers, Old Bones and Other Stories' , will be published by One Million Stories early in 2012.

Mr Fox Goes to Town

He took the tube from Walthamstow.
Flashed his Oyster card
and his teeth.
Sat down.
Tapped his iPhone.
Checked the birds catching the early words on Twitter.
Licked his whiskered, furry lips
and smirked to himself.

Those urbane foxes get everywhere.

© Jane Slavin

What the Fox?!
Jane is a former journalist, now council press officer, living in Plymouth. In her spare time, she is falling in love with words again by making her own stuff up!