Fox Un-Lullaby

Woke me in the orange dark,
the foxy screaming play
which I knew
wasn’t sex,
because I’ve seen you
once, a year ago –
a couple of kids
trying out your bright new bodies,
yelping and shrieking
in between the disembowelling
of fatally early binbags.

Maybe this year, this spring,
it’s the same kids who scream me awake
but they’re playing new games,
fox-making games,
so even as I groan, dig into the duvet,
a smile is yanking my lips
and the wild is in my ears,
singing through the foxes
of the earth stuck under the tarmac,
the Effra the Peck the Westbourne the Fleet
when they rushed and gushed,
the roots of the oldest trees
fingering the bones
of all the fanged things
that shivered their seedling leaves.

All of it
pulsing out into this night,
an arterial cut
still bleeding.


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