Flying Fur

As I stepped dripping
from the drink,
I chanced to spy
a startled mink.

I stood astride
his customed path
and set ablaze
his short-haired wrath.

He swaggered off
to look me over.
I caught him peering
through the clover.

His weaselly mug
and hot-dog size
stared down my urban
virgin eyes.

I walked away,
not valor-bound,
and he reclaimed
his hunting ground.

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