Our neighborhood was once home to the Skunk cadre.

Wandering about, searching for the nature Padre.



Turning off the busy township motor thoroughfare,

The road north was frequently odiferous with Skunkware.



Sometimes we caught a glimpse, a row of black and white family stripes.

Following their lead Skunk carefully along the country pipes.



Unfortunately, Skunks may meet an untimely death on the road.

Automobiles speeding along, bumpity bump, the Skunks’ death foretold.

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A carcass appears on the road and the Skunk community mourns silently.

Their fellow Skunk met an untimely death, now laying flat, life lost instantly.



The third stage of death sets in soon, rigor mortis causing forelimbs to swell.

Hind legs reaching toward the sky, along with the fetid, dead Skunk smell.



Often roadkill will stimulate local carnivore appetites,

But it’s unlikely predators fly in for dead Skunk bites.



Poor, dead Skunk lays on the highway median strip.

Crushed anal scent glands continue to drip.



No on-call Veterinarian, except to test for rabies.

For the dead Skunk’s family, the afterlife is full of maybes.

Lea B. Jennings

The Post Bulletin publishes poetry by local and area writers every Tuesday. Send poems to life@postbulletin.com with the subject line "Poetry submission."