Thursday Fox

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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.

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