like demented animals on heat,
the silence of the Sidcup night
lashed to pieces in an instant.
At 3 am the helicopter
sends its beams across the Hollies’
tranquil maze of dead-ends and
Foxes halt mid-scavenge
in Old Farm Avenue front gardens,
arrested by the whirring cacophony
They sniff the air,
then move on, over backgates and
shed roofs, unhindered by boundaries,
failing to recognise fences or walls.
The searchlight scans
and probes the shadowed
streets, the fugitive unfound.
Photo courtesy of Chantal.