Feral Truths?

“His Totem the Fox”

Jocelyn Brooke “The Image of a Drawn Sword”

 

When the wind abates and the

school-run suddenly stops and the

workers come home, it’s

quiet here, many of the

men on second marriages with

children sequestered elsewhere,

visitation rights evidently

negligeable, some balloons and

banners popping up on doorframes, soon

tattered by that damned wind, but

otherwise no breath of

impropriety, no quietly

opened and closed doors, no

secrets seeping onto the

silent street.

 

But what if I was the

cat that is not ours but

comes and goes for

food and attention, or the

fox whose bark

echoes in the dark,

sniffing cold air and

smelling feral truth?