My animal poem is about a fox I encountered on my daily walk back in Washington State. I've long pondered our meeting, and how long he watched me from the road. How did I appear? As a fool or as prey? Oblivious to the natural world?
The Fox
Naïve to set my shoes on his path
where his paws touched the earth,
where he hunted the vole under the brambles.
I ignored the scat, so obviously placed,
and the burnt orange fur clipped by thorns,
or his small tracks, precise and neat.
I am fool enough to think he stumbled on me;
deaf and bumbling, I stumbled on him.
How long he watched me as I moved
loud and thoughtless, a merry-go-round.
He watched me with his careful eyes,
as if he too considered me easy prey,
a mouse or marmot he could sink his teeth
until he got bored and flashed in front of me,
crossed the road and paused for one second,
glanced over his muscular shoulder
and then deemed me unworthy.
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