You Scratch and I'll Sniff
The Greyhound’s chemical toilet began stinking fifty miles back.
Southern Indiana rolled past and was no
distraction at all.
He had an itch to travel, not to smell the world.
The stench fated the late afternoon heat and he groaned in disgust.
Two old ladies in front of him took pity and shared their olfactory defense.
They were mid-western angels.
“My niece gave me a pack of scented cards, aren’t they pretty?”
There was Midnight Surrender, Desert Mist and Sunset Passion.
“Don’t worry, young man, we’ll scratch and you sniff.”
They smiled and giggled like school girls in a science lab.
Pressing “Heavenly Waves” to his nose,
Gossamer Moon, Silken Evenings and Tropical Harmony took him another hundred miles.
He lost his saviors in Indianapolis, within the crowds of dreary smelling folk, who might never discover the delights of,
and Wander Lust.