Holy Critters

Ah, the effrontery of skunks!
A mother skunk and her two babies
have made their home beneath my
bedroom window.  Though I am
fair-minded, this is frontier
disorganization; it is misfit habitation.
Animal metal, audacity, airing outright.
Yet I am sympathetic to motherhood,
albeit rank, a potential time bomb
of dire aroma...so why not
beetles? or crickets? or turtles?
Why this squatting of inevitable
other-worldly emanation?  What would
lead a skunk proximate to my abode?
And what, then, would lead me?
I am edgy lodger, a chip of life
torn between a giving heart
and a sensitive nose.
I seek counsel from the gods
as to why things happen
the way they happen.
And so I spin
like a whirlwind,
like an eddy, gallant
yet galled--a kick-plate me,
a ewe eyeing shepherds narrowly,
a kidney stone in the Queen’s
royal ureter.  Oh, do I dare
oust these sudden settlers?
Do I purge that life (possessing
odor unpleasing), to simply toss
around my weight? 
Perhaps a prayer, a
humbling of spirit, a plaintive
plea to He on high that
piercing wafting does not flee,
but will instead be so detained
that nostrils rise up not!
I wonder if He’ll hear?
Or will He smell a rat? 


40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp 
5-15-16