To see the skies turn red.
Fox just moved in
Across the street from your house.
White pickets mirror
Tiny sharp teeth lining his jaw.
You’re stalked from the rise of sun
To last light of day.
The barnyard block gossip
Has you cooked and plated
Before the week is out.
They call dibs on your down
To line their beds.
They say his shiny black beetle eyes
Fixed on you the moment the light
Hit your feathers…just so.
His tongue wagging anticipation.
Best not move around so much.
Catch his eye and he’s caught you,
Hypnotized by the flicking white flame
At the end of his tail.
The lightning flash shows your lawn
Aflutter with wings,
A last line of whiteness to bind you.
A feast for the flock.