Distraction
in procession down Blenheim
a father and son
each bent over his phone
like a priest reading his office.
Bull Bison
cast out from the herd
he shuffles the prairie
like an old Christian Brother
like an unkempt monk.
Skunk Three
There are now 2 skunks living under the shed at the back of our garden. Yesterday, they came out to frolic around on the lawn in the late evening sun and later around 11:30, they strolled beneath our window filling our bedroom with that skunk smell. Skunk spray, by the way, consists of seven major volatile components; they are mainly organic sulphurs (mercaptans), which are also responsible for the way that pulp mills smell. The spray is stored in scent glands on either side of the skunk’s anus, a skunk has enough for 5 or 6 sprays and it takes 10 days to be restore the supply. So, they do not spray unless they have to.
Where was I? This poem started off a few posts back as a haiku (“Skunk”). I didn’t like the ending so I changed the last line (“Skunk Two”). Then I began thinking about form. Yes, writing to a form does corral a poem and focus language but every now and again it is good to open the gate and let the poem run free. So I have gone hog wild here, added 2 extra syllables and combined the last two lines of the 2 poems, here it is:
Skunk
struts across the lawn
with a cleric’s confidence
tail cocked, sphincter primed, cocksure.
