As the great klaxon sounds,
Tower Bridge lifts steel bloomers
For a Hornblower yacht. Nora’s
fingerpoint to shoreline & bulked
embankment where, look! Weaves
one quick skunk family in dusk.
Mama jets ahead in a direction; her
four-kit brood sashays fast close to
and close from, meshlike younglings
drawn in and out by drawstrings of
shove-for-milk or just-keep-up.
Kits trickle on, like lactic effort.
Little corvettes, they convoy
her safely under-over sticks & things
that dust her. Their vee-stripes:
whiter comet’s hairs than hers in
new-universe black, they’ve not
yet had to stink hard to survive.