Feathers on the Lawn


by Benjamin Busch

The fox made my daughter cry.
It probably didn’t know that one species
could love another. Who’s to blame?
He was hungry and her rooster was there.
We found his feathers on the lawn,
torn clean by the mouthful,
a fight lasting one hundred feet
that we slept right through, never heard
his calls, the hens saved by his nobility.
I admit that nature has its own rules
and, in all fairness, a hunter
should be allowed to satisfy their hunger.

But the fox made my daughter cry
and so I’ve chosen sides.

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