A poem about the author's encounter with a skunk. No tomato juice needed.
March 12th, 2003
Found my soul lurking in a bag of potato chips
Tossed in the gutter near Married Student Housing
He poked his nose out as I walked by
Common, elegant creature of black-and-white
Fog sticking to his fur
Chips sticking to his whiskers
We paused, uncertain,
Each watching the other watching him
Until, together, we decided to part
Just for the night
And I walked away thinking
"How nice it must be
To be a little skunk
With his own bag of potato chips."