there’s always
an antiseptic smell
before
death
as if
we truly
believe
we might
cleanse death
from
our being
it’s
a fragrance
of
age
we know it
all
too well
from
nursing homes
and
hospital halls
but
sense it
even as
we walk
along a city street
it makes us
most sad
when
a passing child
has whiffs
of
death
we wonder
why
and
where is
god
but are
soon distracted
by
armani
arden,
or
fresh-baked goods
until
when naked
in
the shower
we
find
that
fragrance
