This Life is a Fox I Stole

—for Clovis “Butch” Ash

What will not make sense to those so fond
of combat: when my time comes I will go

gently. Despite my younger age, the still-
hard lines of my body, my faith, despite

the raw and fraying fibers of my being
for my family’s sake I refuse

to betray this pain. For years I served
below decks assembling ordinances

addressing packages of Hellfire
delivered on blade-thin wings

of death. While in the darkness of that
dread machine reactors glowed and set

my marrow free— Though decades passed
before we named the beast. Like me

there was a boyish thief who kept a secret
pinned against his breast. And even

as the feral pup all snarl and claw and
starving bared its fangs and started

gnawing— Even as the wound outgrew
his slender frame the Spartan tightened

his embrace. Like him I love the light
no less for lack of raging. Would rather save

my breath and bear the teeth. After all this
life is a fox I stole, and foxes need to eat.