Fox Amongst Children
Our flat overlooks the school
and offers a view of its playground
and the derelict plot next door,
overgrown now with long grass,
cow parsley, dandelion, a fly-tipped
sofa. We sometimes spot a fox
lazing in the shade, unfazed by
the children playing on the other
side of the fence. On polling day
the school stands empty, its yard silent
but for clucks from two hens in a hutch.
Past the shoe rack waiting with tiny
wellingtons to the hall where three
ladies smile and say the morning’s
been steady, not too busy; manageable.
Next day the children are back
in their playground laughing,
and we spot the fox in the sunshine
at ease, patiently washing its paws
with pulses of pink tongue.
*****
Remembrance Sunday
The commentator said
the queue for the march
past would’ve stretched
all the way from London
to Edinburgh, had they
not all been lost. At eleven
I went out to hear the guns,
unrolling the sleeves of my
jumper to smoke a quiet
cigarette. That evening, I
sat and watched the news,
the proud-coated men and
women marching by again,
resting their red rings on
repeat. On an envelope I
wrote Who am I to say we’
ve learned so little, to say
I can’t relate to the past?
Fox Amongst Children originally published by The Stare's Nest, 2015
Remembrance Sunday originally published by The Stare's Nest, 2014
These poems can also be found within the archive pages of The Stare's Nest
©James Bruce May 2014-15
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