Twas_the_night_before_Skunkmas

Twas the night before Skunkmas, when all through the wood, 
Tomato baths were stirring (not that it’d do any good). 
The stripes were worn proudly on the animals’ hair, 
In hopes that St Mephitis soon would be there. 
 
The kits were nestled all snug in their nest, 
Their nocturnal vision making bedtime a mess! 
With mamma in her ‘kerchief, my tail I did wrap, 
Around to lay down for a long winter’s nap. 
 
When out in the forest there arose such a clatter, 
My hindquarters sprang and got ready to splatter. 
Away to the clearing I flew like a flash, 
Tore open the garbage and ate up the trash. 
 
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow 
Appeared through my myopia a vague sort of glow. 
Did I wander on the road? Is that light a diesel? 
No, it’s a tiny sleigh—wait; is that a weasel?! 
 
Of course not! My goodness—I must still be drunk 
Because it was without a doubt, just good old St. Skunk. 
More rotten than garbage, his coursers they smelled, 
And he whistled, and shouted, and their names he then yelled! 
 
"Now Striped! now, Hooded! now, Pepe le Pew! 
Stink Badger and Hog-nosed—yeah, I’m talking to you! 
To the top of the tree! to the top of the wall! 
Now splash away! Splash away! Splash away all!" 
 
As my brethren’s striped tail would back and forth sway , 
When they meet with an obstacle, just lift up and spray. 
So up to the tree-top the coursers they flew, 
With the sleigh full of grub worms—and Stink Badger, too! 
 
And then, in a stinkling, I heard on the trail 
The swishing and shaking of each little tail. 
As I drew in my head, and was turning around, 
Down the chimney St Mephitis came with a bound. 

He was dressed all in fur (duh), from his head to his foot, 
The dusting from his dark coat (not ashes and soot.) 
A bundle of worms he had flung on his snout, 
Which looked like a moustache—sans facial hair crawling out. 
 
His eyes-dark and squinty! his whiskers-how merry! 
His cheeks were like roses (from having had too much sherry) 
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, 
And his stripes, I admired, were as white as the snow. 
 
The stump of a worm he held tight in his jaw, 
Which he soon slurped up, then wiped off his maw. 
He had a pair stink glands set behind his belly, 
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of smelly! 
 
He was chubby and plump, and quite out of shape, 
And I laughed till I sprayed, (and now we need some new drapes). 
A wink of his eye and his _expression then dimmed, 
Like in the card game last night, when I sadly was “himmed”. 
 
He spoke not a word, but lived up to his name, 
And after that night the neighbor’s dog never smelled the same. 
And laying his claw aside his nose long and narrow, 
Arose up the chimney, barely missing a Camaro! 
 
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a shout, 
And said something about tomato juice never getting that out. 
But I heard him exclaim, driving through skies of azure, 
"Happy Skunkmas to all—and I’m not a damn badger!"