…More, because our Foxes are one-third Man
And also less, because our Foxes are one-third Man.
Man’s individuality makes them more yet,
By its very nature,
That individuality has to be less than whole.
Unlike Animals all the species of Man,
And there are many, can be traced back to one common ancestor,
And they have named her Lucy, which means ‘light’…
‘We did too, see Foxes,’ objects my Companion, ‘proper ones!’
Bear and Wolf,
And Dog and Fox are all closely related.
It is tempting to imagine a common ancestor;
Bigger than Wolf but smaller than Bear.
But the official line has something
Much less rapacious originally slink down from the trees.
To replace what?
The Dinosaurs whose more agile brethren had taken to the air.
I wonder what Linnaeus would make of the Mister Fox procession,
As it snakes its way through the alleys and walkways
Of the Saturday night revelers, encouraging all to join its wake.
“We saw Foxes!” says my companion.
Well, yes and no…
We saw something less
And something more than Foxes…
I never knew Holmfirth in the days of mill workers and clogs.
I really got to know her in the Post Industrial gloom,
Of swish Cafe Bars,
And cosy restaurants,
All day drinking parties frequented by the nouveau riche…
Who leap from still moving taxis,
Done up to the nines, dressed to kill,
While up on the hill,
Something feral is stirring…
Something ancient and unsought…
So, as the lazy cars slow crawl,
Through tight-cobbled streets,
Held up by roaming party-goers,
Soft parading their unsteady path from the park…
And boozers sing boldly in the late afternoon heat
With rabid mouths, foaming,
Never quite finding the beat…
A beast is preparing,
to be unleashed,
In the dark…
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