Unthinking

Mangy old fox
out above ground
at a quarter past five
on a white summer’s afternoon.

You skulk along the embankment
facing back on to the train
ignoring the rattle and roar
with your feigned fox nonchalance.

Direct in the sun your patchy fur flares
flames like a bonfire
as you vanish unseen by all but me
sly as a pillar box.

2005 © A F Harrold