#2,479 Brock

Mike Bell/ July 25, 2022/ www.mikebellpoems.com/ 0 comments

Our resident town badger
has –
come here
to die –
alongside dug soil
of fox diggings from those
years of lock-down –
he’s laid a set to wither in
[according to our local vet
who lives opposite] –
I saw
it sitting quiet atop its hole
in last night’s gloom –
of white on its forehead –
slow turn to me
[enough is
enough –
he said] –
A weigh
of pelt & age –
festooned in
ticks & fleas –
until dead
[then shifted for
twenty-five quid for labs to
deduce any instances of TB
in his pile –
in East Sussex]

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