the strange thing

i was sitting on my large canvas
and a war was soon to come
i drew the Portrait of Mistress Mills
sucking on her wounded thumb

with a face as flat as gravity
one finger pointing neither left or right
while a soldier with his hurried face
set out to take a bite

he was reaching for his mustache
when he heard three men at the bar
spinning outrageous stories
of old searches for a star

a flipperlike arm began poking me
inspiring my gigantic shout
while the boys continued with their stories
but i was racked by doubt:

i was sitting near an animal
and the woods were soon to close
there was a palpable urine fragrance
and i tried to hold my nose

it appeared to hover overhead
like a fine mystery in a box
and when opened it wasn't too difficult
to see the strange thing was a fox.