a pub in the woods

a pub in the woods

bird’s tongue a-chirp and

fox

gone round the corner

for a pint

discussing badger’s new

ones,

and inn-keeper’s new wife

“order up another pint,” says bird.

“with gladness,” rejoins fox.

a glow warms them both--

they continue their revelries

with tales of the wood.

fox tells of last year’s kits--

all now with their own families

learning of stealthy foxy ways

bird tells of teaching new ones to fly

“there is nothing like flying,” says bird.

“there is nothing like being a fox,” says fox.

they toast their particulars heartily,

wish to be done another round

as a group of marmots enter

and order a plate of seeds, nuts, and

bread crumbs to munch

speaking of close calls with hawks,

owls, and an eagle who flew away

with one of their number.

two weasels behind the bar

sweep up a mess

made by the

pub’s owner, a rather

rotund gentlebear named clyde

who lost his first wife to a hunting

accident perpetrated by humans

who never come to this part

of the wood, it being quite hidden

from their eyes and other senses.

two owls sit perched in rafters dark

much to their liking and wonder at

the party of marmots,

how crunchable they are

but the pub is neutral ground

where all feel safe and sound.

outside the door is quite another

tale.

bird and fox are chanting, jostling,

awash in their cups.

as sun sets

slowly

guests whose time is day

move for the door.

owls now awake and aware

whisper of night flights

adroit moves through tree

branches.

falling upon mice and other

fare

as one preens its feathers

preparing for flight.

fox and bird--

hangers on

asleep at the bar.

clyde smiles,

tips them both into a booth.

and fills more pints for

night guests.

vcp