Fox Hunting

There was a fox in our garden last night
The kind of nocturnal thief one wants to discourage
I watched him for a moment fascinated
By his bravado as he crept ever closer
To the patio doors

What would he do I wondered
If he could manipulate a crowbar or a brick
Would he be content with the contents
Of our refrigerator, or perhaps given the
Opportunity he would steal our precious things?
But what good would they do him?
He’s only trying to exist in a world that’s been
Squeezing him out and hunting him down for
Centuries

So sadly I shouted at him and he wheeled
In a trice and shot away through the privet
At the bottom of the garden

When I woke the next morning
I discovered my car had been broken into
The contents of the glove compartment rifled
The CD player stolen and defecation
Left on the driver’s seat

Tonight I fed the fox.