Skunk Juice - A July 4th Poem

Skunk Juice - A July 4th Poem


The skunk
must have hidden
at least a mile down,
but you can smell
the spray
as if it were next door.
It spilled into the air
last night.
I thought it would be
gone today,
but the humidity,
the heavy breath
of a rain sky
kept it close to the ground.

Now booming.
earth echoes
and colors
drench a sky
without stars.

If the skunk travels late,
it may rest
in the last parcel
of unbuilt land -
scared, hiding,
skunk juice bursting
in thick South Jersey air
now giving proof
that we hear only firecrackers,
not gunshots.

But banners that yet wave
set churches aflame.

Not the skunk's fault.

The dawn brings no light.