Scent:
grand trigger,
concealed weapon,
unexpected clue.
Standing on
a corner, watching
pale people
walk by:
some solo and
others in pairs
crushing tight
under umbrellas
in light rain.
I smell them
going by. I
smell their fear,
can almost understand
if not sympathize —
yet thereafter
step out
unprotected:
less than concerned
with my own imminent
drenching
as I’m too familiar
with that
to fear it;
no concern for
whatever future bullet
that smell might foretell;
those pale folks
don’t have a clue
what a deluge
feels like,
while I’ve lived under one
my whole life.
