Amongst a hedgerow a vulpine den
lies parallel to the road and ranches
in a burrow where the residents lay
between man's best friend and vermin.

Imperial hunters track serpentine paw prints
that lead underground; a temporary home.
A permanent grave; a house for humans
must be built here, even if it means

eviction by execution
foreclosure by fire.

Smoke billows before American Foxhounds
drool dripping from canines; saliva trails lead
to their master's boots; the tactical militant kind.

A hollow existence is paved over
cementing a subterranean legacy.
Now the smoke billowing before the foxhounds
exits through the fireplace rising from the grave.