How Do You Smell?
October 24, 2010 in Prose Poems, Wordsmoker Poetry
I will shower with Dove. I will meld the remaining sliver from the last bar on
the top of the new one. Some Arctic Breeze deodorant the lady picked out for me.
It’s got an orange top and it’s not the gel stuff I like. It’s that hard white
stuff that looks like powder later on, if you look, if you give a shit. But hey,
it’s better than nothing. I will sweat as soon as I get out of the shower.
Always foggy in the bathroom when I’m done because I turn the water hot enough
to make me red. The smell of cut grass and gas from the lawnmower won’t leave me
for days. Sometimes when I kill lots of ants I feel them on me as if their dying
gasp is a hundred temporary psychic ant bites. It’s the same with the grass. A
million felled blades have fired telepathic chlorophyl stabs at my brain. This
particular pair of crumpled jeans never fades from green at the bottom of the
legs, stained from the eternal yard holocaust.
