Fox Hunt

Steve Pearson Poetry

A cacophony of lustful cries,
driving horns and surging hounds
nears the terrified, tremulous fox,
the wretched undefended quarry,
fleeing before the lewd end of life.
It’s losing the chase, the last hurrah
of the closing, yelping, barking pack
and riders, rising up, riding it down
with power-drunk sexual esprit
in anticipation of final bloody glee,
galloping to join the jamboree
at the grisly end of a “sporting” spree.

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