FOR THE FOXES
- May 8
- 1 min read
By Aiden Wylder
A dark glistening object catches my eye,
Reflecting the sun like polished hematite.
Black diamonds shimmering in the sunlight,
Horripilating and trembling in the zephyr.
My inner magpie is drawn to this shiny entity.
The vision becoming clearer as I draw closer,
Jiggling bejewelled beings attached to something
Bronze and furry, and lying maddeningly still.
On the track, half a fox,
Dead on its’ back.
Coating the barely visible splaying innards were hundreds of flies,
Bustling and shuffling, taking their carnivorous fill.
There is a strange beauty in their motion.
Nature’s pre-programmed nanobots,
Set to decomposition mode.
An unseen side of the natural world at work.
I doubt we die so dazzlingly as the lucky fox,
Leaving this realm a poet’s muse.
You must’ve made peace with the world,
Curled up asleep like the ballast is your home,
Bright and blushing and full of autumn.
Nobody would know,
Except the flies are beginning to gather,
Unable to nudge you awake.
White pom pom bushy tail,
A smile that’s makes me wonder what
Sweet thoughts you had in those last moments.
Briefly I see my dog in your place,
I wish I could hug and hold you close
To keep you from being taken away.
Never did you need more love
Then when returning to the earth.