Skunk
by Michael ChitwoodA smell you can taste.
Road-kill, its cloud
is a sudden smother
of summer night.
Pole kitty, says the driver
to cute up
the stench.
Just don’t frighten them
you remember your father
saying as they
meandered near the porch.
The two of you
sat very still
held inside that moment
by their black and white
elegance,
their calm.
When they were gone
he said
“Handsome animals really,
and they only want
to be left alone.”
His starched Sunday shirt
lit the dusk.
Michael Chitwood was born and raised in the foothills of the VA Blue Ridge Mountains but now works as a freelance writer and college lecturer in Chapel Hill, N.C. His many books of poetry include Salt Works, Whet, The Weave Room and Gospel Road Going, which received the 2003 Roanoke-Chowan Award. His poems can be found in Georgia Review, Poetry and many other venues.
Related
His Chair
Dominion
