Classic Poem

The skunk cabbage with its smug and opulent smell
Opens in plump magnificence near the edge
Of garbage-strewn canals, or you see its shape
Arise near the wet roots of the marsh.
How vigilant it looks with its glossy leaves
Parted to disclose its bruised insides,
That troubled purple of its blossom!
It always seemed so squat, dumpy and rank,
A noxious efflorescence of the swamp,
Until I got down low and looked at it.
Now I search out its blunt totemic shape
And bow when I see its outer stalks
Drawn aside, like the frilly curtains of the ark,
For the foul magenta of its gorgeous heart.