Had a visitor to the neighborhood on Sunday who seemed worth commemorating in a poem. So:
the fox
stands under the streetlight
and screams his song
up at my window
it’s 1am Easter morning
I’m up late working
(the “day job” even though it’s night, nothing creative)
but this little redhead
sounds his barbaric yawp over the roofs of the suburbs
and calls me back to something untranslatable
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