GRANT FRASER (JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)
Poor Fox, you've decomposed so much
now, I took it upon myself to bury
you...in a deep hollow of the old sea wall...
I lifted boulders up from the waterside,
one at a time, I was sweating all over,
and the cuffs on my blue jacket got
covered in all kinds of crap,
While an old schooner sailed by,
without a mast, out of the corner of my eye,
tiny figures all whooping and cheering!
Two lovers rifled past, glaring at the dead
red fur, 'yes - once more orange than a sunrise! '
Yeah! the light had gone out - real bad weather
we'd had, couldn't ascertain what had happened?
And I wonder if it's the same fox I spied one
morning, while waiting for the early crew van,
Off course - I made some friendly dog banter,
and the blasted beautiful fox so lightly footed
comes right up, to find a startled me, hand empty!
I doubt I'll ever get as close again, until today,
but you are dead, and the best I can offer,
is to fumble, hoist you up by that great soft brush
of a tail...
Then I struggle getting you in the hole...
Your floppy legs wouldn't quite go,
And the side you'd been lying on was so rank,
maggot infested, rotten, my nostrils imploded!
But once I got you in, I was partly glad!
went down, washed my hands methodically, in a rock pool,
the sea water felt good, then I picked up my camera & bag,
and climbed back up, walked past again, with a funereal air,
muttered something holy, can't quite remember?
Comments about this poem (Dead Fox by GRANT FRASER )
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