The bus freed up whiffs of gasoline.
Sitting next to me, an aged passenger
smelled of a pungent hair oil.
During lunch time the malodor
made me scream at the waiter.
All eyes stared at me.
Rosy remarked something about
her new moisturizer, didn’t hear her.
The evening breeze was a sharp stink
with my greased hands.
Dinner was vegetables in an oil spill,
I tumbled in stench.
An acrid taste burned my entrails.