Tale of Ol' Skunky

a poem by Leslie M. Owens, USA

Legend of Ol’ Skunky the swamp monster

I was sittin’ on my front porch spittin’ tobaccy
Listenin’ to swamp sounds with my old Pappy
When out of the darkness came a low erie growl
And up jumped my hound dog who started to howl

Pappy leaped up, his rifle clamped tight
His eyes flashed wildly, he was ready to fight.
Out of the swamp goo, rose a monster so tall
He made the old cypress trees around him look small

His glowing red eyes didn’t look happy
And he showed his huge fangs to me and my Pappy
From where he rose up the fog roiled like smoke
And a nasty smell hit us just as he spoke

I pass this way nightly as I traverse the fog
In my search for my dinner, I hunt through the bog
I seek in the moonlight for possums and beaver
Then chop them up finely with an ol’ meat cleaver

I fry them I grill them I cook them in soup
But honestly I’m tired of eating that gloop
I live all alone, in my little swamp shack
And sometimes at night I just dread going back

Right about then maw popped her head out the door
When she saw that huge monster she almost fell on the floor
Don’t worry ma’am he said with a smile
I haven’t had swamp people as food in a while

I actually stopped when I saw your cozy bright light
Hoping you’d invite me in for a bite
I have quite a hankerin’ for quince raccoon pie
And I’ve heard yours is the best, he said with a sigh

Then with a huge thud, a clomp and a thump
Stinky Ol’ Skunky plopped himself down on a stump
Then momma fed him and oh wow could he eat
The mountains of food he ate couldn’t be beat.

He ate all the quince pie and then all the cheese
He burped and he slurped but didn’t once say please
And after he’d eaten his very last crunch
He pulled out a jug of swampwater punch

He passed it to pappy who took a big drink
Then he handed it to maw and gave me a big wink
When my turn came round, I was handed the jug
As soon as I taste it I started to chug

That punch was the finest we ever had tasted
And not a drop of that fine beverage ever was wasted
We all fell asleep and snoozed until dawn
When we awoke the next morning Ol’ Skunky was gone

But behind him he left us a swampwater treat
His refilling punch jug sure was neat
No matter how much punch we ever did drink
The next day it was full again, right up to the brink

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