Made me sad to see him,
laying there petrified,
Breeze flowing through stripes,
stench wafting around,
haunting passers by with strong
testimony of his short existence.
I grieved. Quickly, not too intensely
'cause I never knew him personally,
just by reputation, like most people
who swerve to avoid getting close.
But death is always a little sad,
permanence lasts so long.
I figured it's not too much to write,
if only in air, a little tribute
to all the dead skunks of the world.
"S/he scavenged, S/he stank,
S/he lived, S/he lived."
(Submitted to Poetry Jam)