Finder’s Fee

I tried to catch a fox;
skinny and worn and
shocked by light,
it scurried from me
as though I meant it harm.

Tail fixed straight down
and fur thin and brown
not red and thick
like perhaps once

With furtive glances
I passed it by:
blind to its retreat.

It eyed me, so sad,
and the traffic growled
its smoke at us
as we stood there waiting for
something to happen.

I turned and walked.
It blinked and licked
and scuttled for some
shadow from the sun.

A dog might pass
on a lead with a scent
and then it would
make it all
more singular.



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