Punks

Remember punks? That luscious smell Brings back my childhood days Of country summers, where I'd dwell In youth's more simple ways. We didn't have TV or phone Or internet or Kindle; Yet time was precious, all our own - We couldn't see it dwindle. On sultry nights, we'd strike a match To set our punks aflame, Then blow until our nose would snatch The scent that slowly came. The wisps would rise and we'd inhale That sweet and smoky flavor; And every time, we'd never fail To deeply sniff and savor. The purpose of a punk, I think, Was keeping bugs away. That yummy smell to bugs must stink - At least that's what they'd say. I don't remember if it worked - It didn't really matter - But we believed that power lurked And so the bugs would scatter. The other day I found a punk And set its tip to burning; Before I knew it, i was sunk, My summer youth returning. Amazing how a certain scent Can cause a reconnection With years that long ago we spent And think of with affection.