Back Creek Smells

Back Creek Smells My nose senses the unseen, Like a final Act’s scene, When I arrive near the Bay, I sense my sinuses are gray, From inhaling the city. Fish scents replace the gritty, Creosote soaked wharves, Instead of perfumed scarves. Smelling imitates tasting, Licking’s like nostrils basting. Something’s earthy of water, Meet mother Nature’s father. The odors of Back Creek, Have no comfort for the weak, But a fragrance it has, If it was music, it would be jazz.