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Urban Fox | A Poem by Christie-Luke Jones

Through gritty, parched eyes I squint,
As hazy boulevards wind ceaselessly ahead.

The soupy June air weighs heavy on my shoulders,
A cruel curse befitting of a cruel hour.

I snarl and thrash and seethe.
I pray for a swift end.

Highgate lovers, swathed in crumpled bedsheets,
Gaze down from high windows in dreamy, post-coital nonchalance.

The soft light emanating from their cigarettes reminds me where I
should be,
Where I should have stayed.

Her cascading onyx locks and melting stare, so far from here,
Snatched away in a frenetic dusk.

In the murky, nocturnal depths of this Hadean Borough,
The thought of fusing my weary torso to the elegant curve in her back
is a blissful escape.

To sweetly kiss the nape of her neck,
And watch that sensual smile paint joyously across her sculpturesque
…for a brief, heavenly moment, I’m there.

But mine is the oppressive still of a North London night,
Where bountiful summer trees loom black and menacing over deserted

But lo, wrapped in my internal struggle I have omitted another.
One who neither pines, nor laments, nor regrets.

A weightless astronaut, he skulks through the night air with a humble

His sinewy frame, that restless, twitching muzzle,
An opportunist cat burglar, thriving in his concrete woodland.

He slows as I approach. A cautious arc. His marble eyes reflecting the
street lights above.
What does he see?

We halt in unison, we share the stillness.

His keen nose analyses my scent, his pointed ears flinch at my
slightest movement.
Such devotion to the senses is something I’ve long forgotten.

Suddenly I feel my heavy feet beneath me, notice my short, agitated
This wild animal has coaxed me out of my own head, made me living

He watches intently as I find the strength to move forward. Down this
path I myself chose.
And as I glance back, I ponder his sentience…did he share in my

Succumbing to sleep I envy the fox. Long to dream his savage,
unquestioning existence.


Christie-Luke Jones is a poet, actor, screenwriter and philanthropist from Oxfordshire, England. Christie-Luke’s writing is strongly influenced by the Gallic blood that courses through his veins, as well as his interest in the more macabre aspects of the human condition.

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