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"Poetry is the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash." Leonard Cohen

Sunday, April 11, 2010

THE LAST SCENT - April 11, 2010 - prompt "the last __________"

The Last Scent

Of all the things you’ve lost
What’s the thing you miss the most

It used to be a running joke
Because of course, it was my mind

But lately, along with hair, nails
Teeth and other somewhat replaceables

It has occurred to me that some
Days I would gladly kill for a sense

Of smell again – I cannot even
Recall when this particular olfactory

Deserted me, just that one day
And than another, and another

I realized that someone would say
Either – “Mmmm – isn’t that lovely?”

Or, “Ewwww – I think I might hurl ...”
And in both instances, I hadn’t

Detected a whiff of anything
Or if I caught something, it was so

Mild as to be negligible and so,
Written off as un-noticed

About the same time as I started
Realizing smell had departed

I noticed along with the inability
To detect odour, I could no longer

Distinguish taste very well either
Food is either good or bad

But usually not enticing nor
Off-putting and it saddens me

That my jokes about not liking
To cook or bake or be in the kitchen

Have a cruel irony to them
Now that there is no reason for me

To spend time there
And nothing I make pleases me

I need, like the king and queen
Of yore, to have tasters

Not to tell me if it’s poisonous
But if it’s too sweet, salty, sour

And so on – I also need others
To tell me, if my perfume has been

Applied too heavily – if I want
To smell it, I can rest assured

I will set an elevator of other folk
Rushing for their inhalers

I wish I could remember what
My last real scent was, the last

Thing I smelled definitively ...
I like to think it was lilacs, or vanilla

But my kids like to kid me saying
With my penchant for babies

It was more likely a dirty diaper
They’re probably right -

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