The Pack
It’s useless now, to haul or kick them off; the hare’s
already stripped, ribs exposed like an un-clad boat,
and Cassie is belly deep in spattered bluebells.
An ex-racer, her back is marred where they said
a trap fell, though it’s likely a lack of insurance
explains the poor stitching.
The hare bolted from tall grass, through the wood,
greyhound and blue-eyed collie following,
blonde Lab and terriers in pursuit.
Now they’re blotched, calm, shod with blood.
One terrier shreds a muscled blackberry leg,
the other slathers bone. The collie watches,
nose on stained paws, as the greyhound
shucks the head, peels wet fur, inverts it
like a winter hat, tell-tale ears
rolled clean away. She licks
and shifts the skull with care,
swiftly mouths the brain.
From ‘The Great Animator’, (2017, Shoestring Press)
Roy Marshall 
Hi Roy, that’s such a potent experience reading about the Hare and the ambivalence that nature has with regard to life and survival. Working up in Stafford a couple of weeks ago, I went on a favourite walk that leads to a field with a group of resident Hares. There were around 10 in the field, some loafing in the evening Sun, others scooting around after each other, a real spring time event. I dozed off, waking up at dusk surrounded by damp grass, some of the Hares likewise. There’s also a group of resident Buzzards in the same area, who no doubt will be ripping the flesh from the bones of hares in the coming months. Best wishes, Tim
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Thanks Tim. I do love hares and would love to wake up surrounded by them! The poem was based on a real event (unfortunately) in Staffordshire some years ago. .
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