The apartment is full of smells.
I know I leave one behind me,
But I do not often smell it
Unless I have had a fair bit of fiber the night before.
My wife smells of herself
And of perfume
And of the plastic plastic-wrapped her work has her handle.
My daughter smells of sweat
And the growing warmth and heat of the late spring Hill Country
And playground sand
And others' children.
Leave an acrid, biting stink behind,
That refuses to cover over what he has done.
And people wonder why I buy air freshener.