The cat arches its back

The cat arches its back

Shrieking like a child

And the fox backs off.

Wary of the sharp claws

She caught him once before,

It is a regular occurrence

This stand off

At the garden gate.

Neither wants to lose face

But as lights go on

The fox slinks away

Into shadow,

Slipping through the hedge

And into the night.

More at home rummaging

Through leftovers

Than catching chickens

He needs to brush up his skills

Killing takes practice

And hunting is art.

He sniffs out an old drunk

Sleeping it off

Against a backyard fence

And chances his speed

Against the old man’s

Ruined reflexes,

Deftly stealing

The half eaten burger and seeded bun.

Easy pickings.

He treads carefully through

Broken glass and needles,

Shaking his head at

The needless wastefulness,

Skirting a noisy couple

Too busy rubbing

Each other up the wrong way

To notice him.

The woman steps back

Almost crushing his paw,

She screams and runs away

The man curses,

Kicking a stone in his

Direction

But he is way off the mark.

In the distance

He can hear a dog bark,

It is time to run

Before the rising sun.

The old fox glances up

As another light flicks on

And behind a tightly pulled curtain

A worried man

Massages his wife’s back,

As she sits, hunched on the

Edge of the bed

Holding her head in her hands,

Weeping softly with

The deepening pain.

At the end of another

Late night in the suburbs

And as the fox trots away

The same song

Plays over and over again

But only the dawn

Knows the chorus.