A Glass Jar Away

Since my last skunk poem blew up the net

I thought I’d hit you with another true tale

concerning our brother or sister, the skunk.

I was driving along as I often am

Just trying to get back to the mattress

when a minor flurry of motion

caused me to pull over and curse.

In a small grassy area between streets

was a large skunk shaking its head

but I couldn’t quite make out a face

because the head was stuck in a

glass jar. The pathos of the sight

sent waves of nausea from my

gut to my mind. Speeding cars

whizzed by on either side:

creatures on their way to

ball games, churches, grocery

stores, illicit trysts, and family

gatherings. I approached the

skunk and saw that he’d never

get that jar off his head by

himself. I also saw the long claws

attached to his front paws.

I had to help, but I didn’t want to

end up in a death camp called a

hospital, so I strained my brain

a minute, ran to the car, pulled out

the work gloves and a crutch.

I lightly placed the padded end

of the crutch over the front paws

then pulled the jar with both hands.

It came off. The skunk lifted his snout

in the grey air and took some

breaths. He looked okay. I brought some

cat food from the car and placed it

it near him. He sat there

on the grass and looked at it.

I hopped in the car and headed back

to the mattress. At home I kept thinking

about him. I called a rehabber who said I

should have syringe fed him honey just

in case. I was too tired and soul sick to move.

The next day I drove back to the

scene. The skunk was gone along with

most of the food. The old mattress felt a

little better after that.

— Fyodor Bukowski

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Skunk 130

It was a homeless cat feeding day

I was driving down towards the

mostly heartless city early,

less chance of getting yelled at

or ticketed that way

I passed a skunk by the side

of the road. I figured he was

already frolicking at the Rainbow

Bridge, and I had to get to the cats

so I kept driving. After putting food

out at five locations, on my way back

I saw the skunk again and pulled over

just in case he was still with us here

on this mostly heartless Earth.

His head was upright. No blood and

he seemed intact. I cursed our maker

for doing this to the skunk and for

doing this to me again. I decided that

he needed help more than I needed to

maintain my present smell, so I pulled

work gloves and a paper shopping bag

from the back seat. I put him (or her)

in the bag. A cop pulled over and

asked me if I needed help. Then I cursed

the worthless inhuman trash that

hit the skunk and all of those that drove by.

The officer smiled and called me by name

though I never gave him my name.

He suggested I call a local wildlife center.

He even gave me the number. I explained

the skunk’s plight to the lady there, and I offered

to pay. She had to ask someone else if they

could be of help, and then she came back on

and gave me another number. Long story short,

I called number after number: wildlife rehabbers,

animal emergency clinics, etc. One voice after another

told me to call this other number. One voice told me

that it would be illegal for me to try and keep the skunk

in my county. I told him that I live in my

own country and that his county could go________.

Finally, I left a voice message to a lady

who I was assured would help. I put the

skunk in the trunk and drove to the pet store.

They didn’t have any skunk food, and after I

watched a few online videos and learned that

I should syringe feed him some honey and other

stuff, no one at the pet store would help. The

ugly young lady manager there explained that

skunks are considered “nuisance animals.”

As I fed him in the carrier in my back seat,

a bee attacked, and I cursed God once again.

The skunk ate a little honey I bought at the

supermarket and some chicken broth too.

It seemed that a back leg or both were broken

Those front legs were swinging those long claws at me

but I couldn’t blame him. I hid the carrier with him in it

under my porch. The skunk rehabber messaged back and

told me to put a blanket over him and to swirl an egg in some water.

She also said that she was going to a family function and that

she would call me back in a few hours at which time I

could head over to her place with the skunk.

I looked at the comments at her rehabbing location.

One stated that she never called the commenter back.

I didn’t have any eggs. I collapsed on the mini mattress

in my room because I was exhausted and it was getting late.

A few hours went by with no call back, so I got in the car

and headed out to her locale with the skunk. He was

starting to shake. I fed him again. His face reminded me of

the face of a dearly departed cat who passed only days before.

We drove and drove. After nearly two hours we arrived at a

semi-rural destination.

A car with windows rolled down sat in the drive. I knocked

on the screen door. The wooden door behind it was open.

A dog with a healed hole in his forehead ran along the fence

bordering the driveway. I went back to the car. Under the

garbage bag and shirt I put over him, the skunk

was shaking worse than before. I tried calling and texting

the skunk rebber lady.

Finally, I found her Facebook page and left an emergency

message. I pulled the carrier out of the car and tried feeding

the skunk again. Then the lady appeared from out of her front door.

I had envisioned her as a sweet old Aunt Bee, but she was an

ordinary-looking middle-aged lady with a crazed look on her

face. I realized that I’d been moving very slowly, so

I explained to her in my meekest voice that I wasn’t drunk

(I wasn’t), just very tired

because I’d been up since 5:00 am.

She started in on me. “THAT’S my life EVERY DAY.

I TOLD YOU THAT I WOULD CALL!” I explained

that because it was such a long drive and the skunk

was shaking, I thought I should get a head start

driving. She continued to harangue me. Then she

explained that she’d been at a family function to

celebrate the memory of her dearly departed son

who had died one year ago that day. I expressed

my regrets, but she hadn’t mentioned that on the

phone, and the skunk was shaking. And there was

literally no one else. There on her lawn, in front of

the shaking skunk in the carrier, as I stared into her grief

and anger crazed face, as she continued to dress me down

and inform me that she had already cared for 129 forlorn

skunks this year alone while she help down her job,

I realized that she was a Saint driven nearly mad because

most people were heartless and wouldn’t help skunks, so

the burdens all fell upon her. I remembered my dearly departed

cat and continued to wonder if I could have done things differently

and saved him.

I realized that I did not feel the presence of God

I started shaking and crying aloud, and no manly efforts

on my part could stop my tears. I blubbered that I was sorry

but that there was no one else. She softened when I told her

about my cat and handed me a form to fill out. There was a

blank for donation. I asked her how much. She said, “Whatever

you want” then “Don’t worry about that.” I gave her 5 twenties and

said through my tears that she deserved much more. And of

course she did. She said that was generous of me and picked

up the skunk in her blanket just like he was a baby. I thanked God

for the lady.

She said she would call me. I said that I would adopt the skunk if

he makes it. She said she would call. She never called.

–Fyodor Bukowski

My Life as a Chopper

Some want that Ninja life

crouched down over the

gas tank, zooming and buzzing

up and down life’s roads.

I’d rather lean back low

behind the gleaming

high handlebars of an

American chopper.

Think Peter Fonda

in Easy Rider.

Riding Easy

Taking it slow

It’s the way a man

travels when he knows

that there’s really

nowhere

to

go.

— Fyodor Bukowski

Who is This?

I try texting this doll face

I’d enjoyed some dances from

At a hole in the wall club

Years ago. Absurd, I know.

Then I get the inevitable

reply: “Who is this?” Without

punctuation of any kind.

The reply opens up a

Pandora’s box of worms.

So I leave the lid closed.

A few minutes later I get

a cryptic text from a different

Number with a different area

Code:

“We haven’t seen you

in a long time how have

you been” I reply: “Who is

this please?” A few minutes

later: “Is this not Elly? This is

Danielle. Don’t you remember?”

And that reply came with a pic

of a professionally dressed cute

Asian lady. What are the chances

I smirk and sigh. Like Charlie

Brown with the football I have

to try. Long story short a few

texts later I determine the sender to

Be a scammer unrelated to the

baby faced black girl from the

trap.

Who is this? Who is this?

It’s the question Emperor Wu

Asked the Bodhidharma.

It’s the question Jesus asked

his apostles. The question we

ask of someone we thought

we knew until…

and it’s the question

I ask you

and myself

too

–Fyodor Bukowski

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Johnny Depp, Rock Star 😆

I sometimes chance upon a

video so ludicrous that it makes

me smile. Once involves a certain

Hollywood actor famous for playing

a pirate based on the mannerisms of

Keith Richards. I don’t watch films, but

that’s all well and good. I understand

his character brings great joy to young

and old. But to see him barely playing

guitar while costumed like a reject from

a Guns n Roses cover band and sharing

the stage with Jeff Beck no less is a

bit much, especially for a guy like me who takes

shots of Pepto-Bismol to get through

tbe day. Keith Richards

gave everything he had to his music

and that’s why he’s still legit up there

while guys like Johnny just don’t deserve

that stage. Is Jeff Beck so starved for

attention? Does he think he might get

Sloppy seconds on some of Johnny’s

teenaged fans? I smile as I think of all

the starving and talented guitarists out there

Who could be saved by playing with Jeff.

Then I find that Johnny’s talents extend

to the world of painting and who knows

what else. It’s gratifying to know that

That his paintings sell while Van Gogh

died unrecognized. Of course, the moronic

Will attribute all this to envy and hate,

But I don’t begrudge the man his acting

Accolades or his wealth. In fact,

I googled “Johnny Depp animal rights” in

The hopes of finding some nugget about

Wonderful things he’s done for animals,

But what came up was an allegation

From his ex that he dangled their dog

Out a car window and threatened to put

It in a microwave. Hollywood Vampire

And cartoony Keith Richards knock off

Pirate, man of myriad talents and owner of

one

Hell of a greasy self satisfied smirk, I

Salute you, American hero, Johnny Depp.

— Fyodor Bukowski

christmas day

driving around

Looking for a place

to order food

but the only spot

open is a Chinese

place where a stunningly

lovely girl works, but I can’t

have her for Christmas and

there are too many man-

sized children standing

around

Wearing baseball caps

so I drive off

with only my liberty

and dignity intact

Of limited use is any

holiday when the dumb

slaves get the day

off too

Bye for Now, Mama

she came to my back door

winters ago

with two kittens

in tow

i took them in

the vet said all three

had feline leukemia

the kittens passed

soon after

and mama took to

grooming me instead

licking my thinning hair

until strands of it

hung from her tongue

I would pet mama

and tell her she will

one day see her

babies again

and when I cried out

“Mama!” when the

nightmares came

as they’d come since

i was a child, mama cat

was the only one to run

to my side, lick my face,

and remind me that i

wasn’t motherless

after all

this went on

for several years

Until this morning

as i was leaving for

work, having already

counted my other cats

i then found mama

open eyed and on

her side partially covered

in her own urine

though she’d seemed fine

just yesterday

the vet said it might

have been a heart attack

I whispered goodbye

and told her

we will be together

again. And the pain now

Can’t be explained.

For her, and myself,

I prayed the

Rainbow Bridge prayer

and to St. Francis and

Jesus too, then I

searched for a Buddhist

prayer, and though

it spoke of animals

as being our mothers

in past lives,

it would have

me pray for her to be

reborn human, and I

love Mama too much

for that. She was and

still is my Mama

in this life.

–fb

Cam Girls of Colombia

As the world is poisoned

and enslaved

by technology

and since romance

and the days of my youth

were slain years ago

I’ve taken to peeping in

on the cam girls of Colombia

Especially one with a sweet

petite figure, ravenesque hair,

and a mouth full of braces.

her life force bursts through

My Android screen and leaves

me gasping at glimpses of what

could have been and probably

was for her ancestors dancing

In grass skirts on

Some unspoiled island,

flowers in their hair, as the

drums announce the arrival

of my ancestors wearing

Frilly shirts on some

sailing ship while staring through

crude telescopes at the laughing

island girls wading towards them,

honeyed breasts glistening under

the sun. And now I lay on my

worn futon watching this

Cambodian babe

who could make me so happy

laughing and making rap

video hand gestures as

the (other?) peeping perverts send

virtual margaritas and

she rocks happily to the drums of

“Highway to Hell” as if we haven’t

traveled that road long ago

and arrived at our

eternal destination.

— FB

The Only One

When they taught us that

Evil entered the scene

Because Eve ate an apple

I told the other kids

the nuns were lying

I was the only one

at that school anyway

And when the other punks

were playing in cover bands

I said that a cover band

is just a cheap jukebox with

flesh and even a crappy

Real band is better than

a good clone group

any day

And I was the only one to

start an original band

on my bloc

And when the tards

blasted their

brainless bass beats

day after day

through everyone’s walls

and skulls, I was the

only old timer

to to put a stop to that

on my street

And when the lot owner

sent his goon to

tell us who were

feeding the strays to stay

away, I was the only one

to laugh in his face and

keep returning to put food

out in places near enough

for the strays to smell.

And when they silence

those who tell the truth, I share

their words at drive-throughs

and I’m not the only one

but it seems like it

most days

–Fyodor Bukowski

The Rotting Retreads

once in a while I can’t help myself

and check the old social media

to see what the old friends

and hot asian girls I’ll nevet

are up to. today I made just

that mistake. An old pal

posted a video of his new

band made up of old farts

in splashy shorts playing

and singing “Respect” by

you know who. And the

rest of the set list was

just as dusty. Far better

it would have been to

have written and played

anything original, even

if screamed or whispered

to the most basic of chords.

Yet by all appearanced the

fattened human cattle

there would disagree..

how they shook their

grey locks and sang.

And how they clutched

onto (like there will be

no tomorrow)

the pizza slices that

they got for taking

an experimental vaccine.

–fb