Badger

by Aidan Andrew Dun

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He used to roam
behind these walls
this was his honey-
coloured lunar
night-field
in the fog:
big round badger
on the prowl.

Now he lies
here on the verge
flat bristled doormat
reading ‘Unwelcome’
dusty pad over which
the transport passes.
Rapid winds
of the juggernauts
ruffle sensitive
whiskers extended
on tarmac.

He sniffs-out doom
far from his silent
hinterland-country
black nostrils
part of asphalt.
Roll over him
as you cross
these frontiers:
here is the way
into the modern world.

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