Walking home,
as many things start,
I am downwind.
There are perfumes everywhere.
Taints of air that say
this one just shaved and
look at how shaved and smooth
this one's cheeks are and
can you see this one's comb in gel and
luster on the crown.
Taints of air that say
this one is not a regular shower taker,
but is want to impress in case
cleavage should cross a mind
at a later time and date and
thumbs should peruse past cues and
see the taste of the air
passing over tongue and say
to oneself: do I know you?
This one says there may be a first impression
to be made along a ladder rung.
This one says maybe something wrong
happened in the blind alleys of Friday's night and
reparations are in order,
but the opposing party may not be
keen on flowers
just yet.
I am downwind of Monday and
choking on the taint of air that says
important things are for the ready and
strung in keys untested, but
desperate for an ear and
I am a rabbit in their tail lights,
spooked and unstuck and unscented
in the deep winded grasses of Monday
that hide my itching nose
darting from the safety of sidewalk
to sidewalk and
to the cool of a home.
