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Foxy LadyTo John Grey's previous piece     When she found out about himTo John Grey's next piece

Foxy Lady

He finds the fox-fur
while rummaging
through some boxes.
Its nose is pointed,
eyes a frozen amber,
its tail long, fluffy,
untouched by moths.
It reminds him
of a time
when women could be
fashionable but cruel,
when a date
could have you
staring in two faces,
one sure of itself
and willing,
the other, sorrowful
and dead.

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