I don’t know

What I smell like

On my neck, anymore.

Besides cigarette smoke,

And molecules of beer burps,

And copied cats and daughters

And over-timed metallic life.

Isn’t that okay?

Don’t I smell good,

Anymore? Not the metal

Time, self-mind or old-life,

But, the now-flesh? Trips to

Tucson malls, angled in between,

Shouldn’t detract from the smell

Of ever timed whatever me.

Isn’t that okay?

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 3/19/08