I Am Man--Smell Me

I Am Man--Smell Me

Clear gun oil streaming
from barrel’s lips,
or cylinder’s thighs;
WD40 bathing
a stubborn key;
grey-brown beach sand,
still ripe with kelp and sea gull,
as you coax it tenderly
out of your sandals;
an inch-thick sirloin steak
sizzling shoulder to hip
with a fat dripping braut;
the gym locker room
as your muscles pulsate
with burn and power;
yesterdays socks hidden
under yesterday’s briefs
in the soft corner of morning;
sweet grass sweat from
yard labor, or the thick
viscus of flower stems
and top soil after gardening;
the first deep sniff
of your wife’s weekly roses,
bacon frying and beckoning
from the other room, as
your spouse lets you sleep in;
my wife’s hair as I hug her
from behind, burying my nose
in her special beauty;
pine and cedar and oak
giving up its pithy essence
under the saw blade;
garlic or onion mist
shared with office mates
after a hurried lunch;
ginger root or cinnamon flakes
or coconut shards or lemon
peels or vanilla’s slap
after the first snap
of a freshly baked cookie;
my wife’s black panties
fresh from the floor,
or later as I fold them
before their gentle journey
to her undies drawer;
the flatulent embrace
from chili-con-carne
garnished deep with
onions and Mexican cheese;
damp toweled hair
after a hot shower;
well worn leather
jackets, gloves, belts, holsters,
and hippy hats;
unmistakable grease gun cologne
rank and sweet, coating the sink
at the local garage’s rest room;
fishing vests and creels
steaming fresh with fish blood,
or just the way the lake smells
as dawn breaks red
upon its fetching stillness.

Glenn Buttkus September 2010

Posted as #42 over on Magpie Tales 33