Sonnet #2

June 24, 2017


The air I breathe carries flower fragrance 

apple, cherry, plum and blackberry blooms

Warm winds waft and wander from east to west

So sweet one would think life creates honey


But the honey wagon isn't on time

the air is heavy with other syrups

Acrid tannic latrine pungent privy 

Outhouse odors burn my olfactory

The stench soaks in my nasal cilia 

eyes well and water as though smoke-smothered


One must call again and plead, "Please Come now!"

"End the suffering, Bring the pump truck 'round."

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