The Fox

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Jason Woolery

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He'd lived in
That part of town
For nearly seventeen years
The day he was
Driving his kids
To the local library
And they all
Saw the fox
Come out of nowhere
On their left

It hopped nimbly out of
A drainage culvert
That ran parallel to
The train tracks
The ones that gleam
Silver in the sun
And bisect the neighborhood
A few blocks
Behind his house
Down by the river
Not too far from the
Center of town
Then the fox
Shot across the road
Right in front of them
And disappeared into
The shadows of a ditch
In a blur
Of silence and speed

That was the only time
It ever happened
But he still looks left
Out his window
Every time he passes
That spot
Hoping to catch
A quick glimpse of fox fur
A fast-moving
Oil paint smudge
A quick smear of
Burnt orange and white
In the corner of his vision
As he crests the
Small hill on Rio Vista and
Crosses the tracks
On his way to
Wherever
Or to nowhere at all

Everyone in the car that day saw it
Had a shared singular moment
So he'll keep on looking left
Every time he passes
Even if deep down
He knows he'll never
See the fox again
Even if he drives by
That spot
10,000 more times

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