Thursday Fox


A putrescent smell

led my daughter into the garden

where her four year old plays.


A dead fox:

couched and crouching,

head on a tussock of grass

as if looking ahead.


No visible injury;

poisoned perhaps?

The jaw was eaten

and maggots festooned the tail.


Hackney council will take and dispose in an hour.


But she dug a garden grave

laid the fox as a foetus

beneath a blanket of earth

with stones above


to prevent further violation.