Lit only by the last pub
Closing down
The lane is dark
And quiet
Single humans in masks
Flit here and there
In retreat from eachother
The bustle of Friday night is gone
It is only 10.30
Yet a fox trots gingerly
Down one path
To a pair of big rubbish bags
He noses them
He looks up for threats
There are none
He nibbles one open
He looks up again
He works out a gulp
He looks up
He opens the second bag
A cat ghosts across the road to the first
He works out a bite
A car’s lights switch on
The fox and cat flee to the shadows
The car cruises by
The cat returns to the first bag
The fox moves off
Then turns back
Then turns again
And steals through the shadows
And turns onto Clerkenwell road
Fully lit and busier…
Bold as brass
Bold as a dolphin or swan
Along the Venetian canals
Instinctively aware
That somehow
The primetime streets
Are his to own tonight