Suburban Foxes

The winter sun, bright as a Rainier cherry,
      abruptly turned to lead
   and, as I strode down Thornton Street,
up ahead, a cat-like creature sped

into the road. No, larger than a cat,
      its reddish tint and snout
   as pointed as a bayonet
said fox! But there were two. Rushing about

with muzzles near the ground, they seemed intent
      on tracking some faint whiff
   no human can discern. A truck
reduced its speed, the pair a jazzy riff

amid the monotone of suburb life.
       One heard my footfalls, tore
   along the walk, and vanished round
a bend—as if escaping from a war.

Its partner flew the opposite way. They
      no doubt were mates, now parted
   like us. But they would reunite,
fusing their fiery fur, not broken-hearted.

Out in broad daylight, surely they were famished,
      each one a sly pursuer
   of rabbits, squirrels, mice, and trash,
yet spritely and as beautiful as you were.

Martin Elster

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Martin Elster would be pleased to hear them