Sometimes, writing a poem
is like
trying to reconstruct
who or what has been in a room
by examining
the various scents that linger there:
her bath soap
the dog’s earthy trail
zest of bacon and chedder cheese
fumes from long ago birthday candles
discreet farts softly released
long ago cigar
slightly damp laundry
old fresh mint.
It’s all there
but it’s not.
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About riverwriter
Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else?
wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/
Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
just one change you should make… in L9:
“zest of bacon and smoked cheddar”
so a poem on the “is” that leaves, is always trying to catch what, by its very nature, cannot be caught.
“smoked cheddar”? I live in cheddar country; the prime dairy cattle here are Holsteins. Hmm smoked . . .