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From Read Write Poem - Get Your Poem On #38:

Topic: Smells/Scents

Construction on Interstate 10

I am sitting in traffic
and writing poetry on the steering wheel
that smells of fumes and sweat,
the frustration that tastes
of one-week science projects rotting
and changing colors
in the fridge,
and anxiety that coats over
objects and skin
like germs and dust
instead of Purell.

Like a single ant out of an army,
I am confused in this maze,
weaving in, out,
and around obstacles
to get from point A to point B,
never knowing why a certain obstacle
is erected like a wart on a thumb,
threatening to leak its contents
into the foul, drowsy air.

I sigh with the noise of
metal against metal
as machines grind and whine through teeth,
creating blooms of sunflowers,
their dark eyes wide and innocent,
gazing longingly towards the sky
and pleading with the moon to stop
stealing the sun's glory.

I am not alone
in silence with my thoughts
but among rumbles and grumbles,
harsh music that pounds away the insides
of that terrible monster car next to me
until it makes a dent in my eardrums
and splits my head in two
like a over-riped watermelon.

And though I cry out,
the wind wafts and coughs up
bile and dirt through my car window,
settling on my tongue,
a daily reminder
that the traffic is my perfume
that sinks into every pore of my body,
the city is what I breathe in
every second of the day,
and I waste a thought,
sometimes accepting that
there is no way out
of this mess.

Addendum: If you would like to read a collaborative poem, click on this link: Seasonal Scents.