In the hours before the dawn
above the rented unkept lawn
rests a weary tired fox
in her creamy coloured box.
Beyond her door is a show
where others presume to know
who she is and where she’s been
but there are sides they have not seen.
She escapes the game through her books
happy in her little nook
surrounded by pictures of friends,
tattered postcards, and mail to send.
Flowery perfume fills the space
souvenirs of another place
cork boards filled with rainbow post-its
clothes bursting from the closet.
She crawls up here once a day
finds her doona and there she lays
time out from the world outside
the only place she can hide.