Chicano Poet

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Skunk Minute

I am the father skunk,
I stink.

I cross the road
into the weeds.

I head down to the river.
I get my whiskers wet.

I hasten back to the mother
and the boy.

I see the black and white
hidden in the den.

They look up with their eyes
to recognize.

I lie down in their midst
like you can never know.


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