The Perfume - CM
The man in the elevator wore trousers like a skirt,
topped by a foul-smelling creased crimson shirt
that stank like rotten onion, the scent failing to drift.
I stood by his side, through the crowd I couldn’t shift,
I held my breath as long as I could, felt I would faint.
So, plugging my nose while I tested my self-restraint
I heard him say rather loudly, “it’s a new perfume”.
I thought it’s his silly invention to make people fume.
When the lift stopped running out at the ordeal’s end
I told him “nice perfume, gift a bottle to you girlfriend”.
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.
