Pattie's Writings
May 20, 2011
SKUNK'S FLAMENCO IN THREE ACTS
SKUNK’S FLAMENCO IN THREE ACTS
ACT 1: THE BROOM DANCE
At midnight, I awaken. Tree shadows
flash and curtains flap. I walk
toward a rustling in the back.
My dog’s ears arch, noses
trace the crack in the door.
I rotate the cold knob, open
the door a sliver. A young skunk
stands ten feet away by the trashcan.
Its eyes glow green. I press a broom
against ribs, try to coax it
to the open gate. Claws dig in,
as it performs a stomp and strut.
I rehearse my broom dance for Act 2.
ACT II: THE SWING
A floodlight moon exposes the backdrop:
a trellis of morning glories, old broom,
trashcan and an open gate. The skunk
and I stand still as a shadow enters—
stage left, then whiskers on a gray snout.
A possum waddles towards us. I rise up
and roar. It freezes on pavement, jet eyes
glare, snout crumples and whiskers jiggle.
It scuttles away. I swing my broom, launch
the skunk toward the gate, go back to bed
and meditate on ceiling cracks. Shadows
of birch branches shake on the walls
in the form of a dancing skunk.
I name it Skunk’s Flamenco.
ACT III: CRESCENDO
Moon rays light pavement. Bits
of kibble, orange rinds, a tuna can,
coffee grinds and a dead beetle
lure me under the gate. I flag
my tail at sniffing and scratching
from the door jamb. I rummage
in spilt garbage. A human opens the door,
stands in spray range, interrupts
my meal, pushes me with broom bristles
soiling my fur. I estimate spray distance
knowing my aim suffers from youth.
I bluff, dig in and do a stomp & scoot
hoping for a retreat. She clings to the broom
like a dance partner—a stalemate until
a possum enters posturing for grub.
The human bellows. I shift slightly,
raise my tail in a graceful crescendo,
aim to shoot but the possum darts off.
The human belts me with the broom.
My paws hit pavement at full gait,
straight for the cat food next door.
