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.