poem of the day 09.14.09

....really working to finish reading and editing my novel this week, so unless i become "inspired," i'm putting old stuff up on this blog this week.


scent

the morning smells
of old scotch and mildew.
they are the hands i’ve
been dealt,
just as some men wake
to huge breakfasts
and nagging wives.

my wife is running around
half-dressed.
she is spraying the apartment
with a pleasant odor from
a can,
used to get rid of the scents,
plus the aroma of cat shit.

humans are good at trying
to cover over
what comes natural.

but the cats don’t seem
to mind.
they sit near their mess,
licking their paws,
content to wallow in the
putrid bliss.

i find it hard to complain
about the intrusive smells
because soon i will be on
death’s highway again,
with all of the other decaying souls,
heading toward squat buildings
where hundreds of people
take up the time
doing nothing but keeping
the economy afloat,
until they are nearly dead.

muzak will play in the halls;
faint traces of old 1970’s pop standards,
and the people will congregate
where they must
to talk about their weekends
or television
or sports.

they will be awash in the stink
of each other
but will say nothing about it
if only to be polite.

and i will sit there,
huffing it like a massive fart,
as if strangled by a noose,
willing to give anything
to be back in this apartment
with the scent of old scotch
mildew
and cat shit.
08.16.06