dogs may be able to smell early-stage tumours
i listen i watch
a young fox in my garden
corded shanks tensely wired
pale pelt scotched in affliction
the small body ribbish and bald
except at the collar as though fox
had come to wear itself in private
thin maleness caught out in wintry
light the boned head stressed alert
with that peculiar sadness foxes carry
in what seems thoughtfulness unabated
thought a thing in this heavy world to be
endured as fleas before he nods the snout
up and outwards eyes turned down blindly
calm in my direction where i lean made in-
visible by glass as though we might connect
at last through smell or he could tell in me
fresh disease
Mario Petrucci
Pic: Claire Palmer