On rounds he has a fear,

One door from which may appear…

Out of the dark

A skunk on a lark,

Who may not want him right there.

The outer door’s often open,

When the chiller machinery’s groping…

For every last breath

Of coolness til death,

In warm weather, screams like it’s choking.

I once saw a pigeon in there,

Staggering in despair…

Because of that sound

It seemed death-bound,

I imagine it was really scared!

So unless skunks wear ear plugs,

I’m not likely to meet one who shrugs…

Off all that noise

With regal skunk poise,

He’d rather dig for grubs and bugs!

–Jonathan Caswell

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