Tuesday Dinner

I feel like Tuesday dinner;
Done with Sunday’s leftovers
Not yet to the Friday special,
Smelling like nothing I want to eat.
No warm oven fresh baked bread
Cinnamon and blackberry cobbler –
This is bland boiled peas
And too-dry to smell like anything meats
Steaming on my plate, threatening
To taste no better than it smells.

I feel like a seventeen year old’s bedroom;
Stale body odor ineffectively masked
By mother’s pungent lemon-fresh spray
With hints of acetone and calendula.
Window tight shut to keep out
The spring breeze and pine trees
And fresh-cut grass hiding just outside.
What I wish I could show to the world
Is marred by what is actually there
No matter how I dress it up.

I feel like a beat poetry club;
Sweet smoke wafting in the low lights,
Air thick with alcohol and sugar
In every breath, sticking to my throat,
Filling my head with dizzy
And my mouth with bad breath.
I just want to curl up in bed
And forget that today ever happened,
Start over tomorrow with my new leaf.
But I can’t get these smells out of my clothes.

***

Inspiration Calls: Creative Talents Unleashed put up this prompt:

Inspiration Call: Describe what you feel right now using the sense of smell. If you feel frustrated, write about what frustration smells like. Use vivid words. Don’t skimp on the adjectives.

Get creative at www.facebook.com/Creativetalentsunleashed