POEM: The Return of the Skunks

At last! At last the skunks have returned
The skunks have returned at last!
With ghastly scent that hangs stiff
As laundry hung out in frigid air
They walk ghostly down streets
Smeared as a portrait of black and white,
The skunk meat releases a cloud that tastes
Like rotted peat - it shouts out loud:
“At last! At last! The skunks have returned.”

“What is that smell?” the children ask.
It is effluvial spring arriving hungry
And nocturnal, on the prowl for
Freshly awakened root gnawing grubs.

With a face a stern as Winter,
The odor, this tangible thing,
This lust for life, sulfur’s cousin -
Is the lust for everything alive.

It is Winter, starting to decompose.
It is the miracle of shade as it returns,
It is piled snow being replaced by an army of skunks
It is the sweaty breath of earth
Rediscovering herself yet again.