FELIX CULPA REDUX

FELIX CULPA REDUX

	i.
Yesterday we saw again, (so still alive!), 
	the fox we saw a few days past,
Felix Culpa, (Happy Sin), nonchalantly 
         trot across Route #77, 
Traffic east, west, always nervous, fox
         an  A-dept, noun and trochee,
 BOOM-bah, like a name: Felix, Kenneth, 
         Jimi. As a modifier, it’s
 a-DEPT, an iamb, bah-BOOM, not
	BOOM-bah! (Bored already? 
	 
	ii.
Wondering what is this crap to me
        or thee?) Iambs are heartbeats, 
Glorious or tedious, as in, a-GAIN,
        a-GAIN, a-GAIN! Enslaved
To life, imploring. Felix’s timing here
       adroit despite Ocean Road’s
Screaming death cars: never scampers,
       dodges, nor ever needs 
Alter his focus on his fox-hearted 
      destiny’s enterprise

       iii.
And destination, the road’s far side. 
       This makes me glad. I need 
To retract the derogatory pessimism 
        I offered the unknown, 
Unpredictable, either tragic or just
	earnest, pathetic public
The other day, including my rude,
	sarcastic hope Felix finds
A mouse to pop into his mouth as if
	a furred Salisbury steak

	iv.
With edible legs and a faintly hairy 
	tail, savory muscle meat  
In  milk chocolate-vanilla fur trailed
	by tell-tale grains of onyx 
Rice. Felix had the air of a fox who 
        knew where he was going 
And how to get there. I don’t know 
        who I am unless I'm
Pondering a fox like him, or a her, 
         a vixen. My thrill at seeing 

	v.
And saying FOX is haunted by a ghost’s
        electric, emotional tremolo,
Not solely, but slyly fertilized by
        Burl Ive’s tenderly amused  
Version derived from peasant penury’s
        praise for a henhouse rustler 
500 years ago, nor wholly by the taunt
        Black friends urged me master,
But what Jimi Hendrix made indelible
	before he died, “Foxey Lady.”
	
KR, 5.29.2025