Memorandum

Reynard, I have seen you outwit

the backyard pugs on YouTube

by diving into a hole and coming

out the other side unscathed,

but I have also seen you flayed

in Gawain, turned to red

pelt for display, your innards

mixed with bread and wine, a slurry

delivered to the ravenous.

Won’t you tell the truth?

I’ve felt such affection

for you, even going so far as

sending you ochre nudes.

Yet, I, too, am a faltering

illusion, keep my phone on silent

through the delirium of days.

Foxy R, we’re all lonely

and can only trick ourselves into

believing otherwise for so long.