Today’s words are: peanut, polaroid, aluminium foil, brittle and salt.
He wore matt blue Polaroid sunglasses,
had a penchant for peanut brittle
and was the lone crusader for skunks.
The smell of a skunk, he declared,
is not unpleasant,
and people who say someone is as
drunk as a skunk
don’t know what they are talking about.
He put up posters saying that
the skunk is a friendly animal,
quite unlike his cousins the weasels,
who are not, in any case,
as bad the reputation they have acquired
from a certain Mr Toad and, more surprisingly,
a Mr Badger, in a book called Wind in the Willows.
He intended to sue a Mr Kenneth Graham
for the circulation of libellous literature.
His love of skunks dates back to when
one entered his house through the cat flap
and settled down to sleep with his cat.
He named the skunk Sylvester and allowed him to stay.
All the other skunks he has collected
live in a woodpile in his back yard.
After Sylvester died, he took plaster casts
of his paws, wrapped his body in aluminium foil,
put it in a crate, packed the crate with salt
and then placed it in his freezer.