Dave Bonta's poem is a celebration of the skunk cabbage, a plant most people would wrinkle their noses at. The speaker raises a mock toast to it as the first plant to greet spring, admiring its stubborn heat: it warms itself enough to melt through ice and holds its own temperature for weeks. That admiration is playful but real.
The tone shifts into something stranger and funnier when the poem turns to the plant's smell. It mimics rotting flesh, and early flies and beetles flock to it. Calling it "pornography for insects" is blunt and cheeky, yet it also makes a serious point: the plant's appeal is perfectly tuned to its audience.
The ending slows down. Once pollination is over, big green leaves open, berries swell, and the roots dig in until the plant seems to be "inching into the earth." The mood is affectionate and a little wry, finding beauty and persistence in something messy, smelly, and overlooked.