Skunk

The odour of the skunk

Is excessively dense and settled

In the air

Of the full moon

Around me.

Call me queer

Or odd

But I’ve always

Rather enjoyed the smell of skunk.

It sort of reminds me

Of bus exhaust

When I lived in conjested, dirty cities.

Funny...

The analogy that I’m actually reaching for

Is communication.

I mean

The skunk’s communication skills

Are there...

Proud expletives in an overwhelming fog.

I’ve walked at least

A half of a mile if not more

And I can still smell him.

There’s no mincing words

With this little fellah.

He comes direct.

What would it be like

To write one sentence?

One poem even...

So strong and virile

That the reader or audience

Is completely bewitched and enthralled.

That the sentence or poem

Stays with them for days

Indefinitely.

No matter how many times

They bathe or shower

No matter what zany concoctions

Or home remedies

They rinse through their hair.

The words and poetry are still there

In all of their resilient pungency.