POETRY

 

Three bells beneath the moon and the fox walks

Three bells beneath the moon and the fox walks
In Bloomington, too cold for the last
lost drunks and the cops half asleep.
Then all but stars are drifted deep
And the trickster's shadow goes silent past
To snatch the rat in his easy stalk.
Under the dumpsters, the small paws creep
And up through stones the oldest songs seep
And the fox is saying if you could hear him talk
That his kits half grown have learned to last
By waiting to hunt til the humans sleep fast,
Till the streets glow white with moonlight chalk.

- Mike Carson

Mike is a husband, father and grandfather in the process in retiring to Bloomington where two of his children and their families live. He has published poems in a variety of journals and magazines, and he finds Bloomington an inspiring place to work. Mike hopes to be deeply involved here and to write well. He would love to see Monroe County from the air - all the trees.