Vox Populi

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Molly Fisk: The Fox Laughs at the Hounds

and at the idea of hounds, a panting mass,

a school of dumb fish, safety in numbers,

their ears flapping like leathery leaves

just before the storm breaks, their high


voices chorusing woods and fields, ringing

off the stone walls she runs beside, light

and fleet, silent as new snow falling through 

the early dark, the brush of her tail a shadow


they won’t see, their cacophony echoing,

they of the loose jowls and flying saliva,

the bumping into each other that slows

everyone down, she slips briefly into a brook


to mask her scent and then up the farther bank. 

If you want to go fast, go alone, and laughing.

Copyright 2019 Molly Fisk

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