Foxes scream at each other in the garden.
Wild pig-squeals in the morning,
territorial or matrimonial I do not know,
but isn’t a fox nocturnal? Why do these two lope effortlessly
over the garden wall, big, bushy, russet.
So this is why neighbourhood cats are so big. The fox
trots past me on the street in the afternoon, blue eyes
eerie, looking elsewhere. Am I not a threat? I turn,
half-expecting teeth at my ankle. You foxes, I am foreign
to your urban nature. The fox I know hides until dusk,
takes cats for dinner, ravages bird-feeders,
not rubbish bins. The fox I know does not yell and run
through gardens in the mist of the day.