The Ol’ Sniffer
There are those smells that sting,
not in a bad way though,
it’s more of a nostalgic sting,
bringing you back,
whether you want to or not,
to a point in time
where that smell used to thrive.
Christmas tree shopping with mom
back when I was truly happy,
bottles of Heineken and cans of Bud
strewn about the garage floor,
Greg’s old ’86 Ford pickup
with no seatbelts or airbags,
An old friends Taylor Swift perfume
she wore to homecoming and prom,
the sex in the backseat of her car,
her bedsheets during those four years,
throwing Ely and JC each and every practice,
my clothes as wet as a mop with sweat
each and every day,
the motel room where you sold your dignity,
and your dick to a stranger,
the tortillas and steak on the grill,
Lyn and Ash’s outside smell that
reminds me of their innocence.
I miss her scent of hard work and
how proud she was when she’d come back
from practice and settle into my arms.
Boy did she smell bad, but a good bad,
the kind of bad that you miss for some odd reason.
Her sugar-plum lotion that can fill a room,
her impressively potent farts that can clear a room,
her birds nest as she wakes up in the morning,
her perfume that I don’t believe is actually perfume,
but that she just naturally smells that sweet.
It sure does bring me back.