It was April or May -- more likely April -- decades ago,
when it was necessary to cross central Texas by car,
headed for eastern Oklahoma,
west to east.

And never in my life have I seen
more dead skunks in a shorter amount of time
and distributed across so great a distance.

The most noteworthy occasion of the drive
was when, after the sun went down,
a very much alive skunk positioned itself in the middle of the road
and waited for my car;
then when my car got close enough for me to see it,
the skunk rose slowly and with great emphasis,
seems like it was up on two legs actually in memory,
like it was daring me to run it over.

I drove around the little weirdo.

Whoever eventually must have run the skunk over,
it was not I who did it.