Perfume
They spray perfume sometimes.
It makes the screaming seem quieter.
Everyone is reading a book or magazine.
Until someone starts crying and bubbles of crying burst.
They serve hot dogs, sometimes.
I’m in the shower and it’s like I’m sitting down.
Eyes closed, chewing.
Eating through memories.
They wash the sheets if you ask them to.
On laundry day, people are still restless.
Because laundry means “trapped.”
Wash a shirt or pants and you’ll wear them in here.
Until next week.
They spray perfume sometimes.
It’s not one I recognize.
They’re trying to hurt me with a nice smell.
Or maybe it’s the laundry detergent they use.
They don’t really spray perfume.
There’s no secret smell.
There’s not much to do.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
