top of page

A Fox Licks the Color from the Sky
by David Hay, 10th October 2022

There is a dream the Forrest tells to men

Who have sucked dry the milk of futures.


It starts with a fox with human eyes,

Whistling, what you assume is some

Old Frank Sinatra song that bleeds nowhere.


He points into the distance,

He holds no history around his eyes.


Folds, thick blanket like golden folds

Roll down the sky

Choking the valley beyond with light.


A small house, a cabin really,

Makes the landscape it’s exoskeleton.

Finally something human

To lock onto,

To pretend to understand.


The fox ushers you forward.

He walks on his two back legs

And you crawl on all fours.

It doesn’t feel unnatural to be a dog,

In fact it quite accurately symbolises your adult years.


You are led to the door,

The garden surrounding is multi-coloured but indistinct.


Someone opens the door.

You can’t tell the gender they are

But you know you love them.


The fire inside is calm and sleep inducing.


This person who you love

Gives you a beer, and a whisky;


You know they will never betray you.


They hand you a perfectly rolled joint,

You’re smiling so much you could cry.


You start drifting in and out of sleep.

They kiss you on the forehead,

It reminds you of the mother you always wanted.


You wake and the fox eyes greet you into life.

He is completely level with you,

You have a sudden feeling of falling.


Before you react, he grabs you by the hair

And pulls you out of the house.


It’s dark outside and there are evil eyes in the bushes and trees.


Only men could be so stupid, so childish.


You run, but you know that every step,

Is a step closer to death.


The fox arches onto his four legs

Cries like maggots giving birth

And chases you.


The light in the distance is far too dim.

bottom of page