Unknown Scent

On Sundays,
he slaps some Old Spice under his arms, 
and takes exactly 4 light dabs of
his father’s cologne.
He isn’t a man of God,
but to fake it
he dresses in his Sunday best.
People know when he is coming—
a failed attempt to mask 
the pungent smell of sin—
choking people for their attention. 
When he would arrive for church
He could never find a reason to step inside.
 
On Mondays,
It’s nicotine.
Did he smoke—
or is it his buddies?
Did he light it—
or was the old lady in the apartment above?
It sits in his hair, 
fuses with the fibers of his clothes—
His lung will find the answer with the
faint orange light that flickers
in the night.
 
On Tuesdays,
he knows he needs a shower
to wash away Sunday and Monday.
He has been called into the office; 
a report to the higher ups.
He must be fresh—
his last bar of Dial
mixes with his mother’s peppermint body wash.
He needs to scrub any hint of his private life away—
in order to maintain even the slightest 
sense of his security.
 
On Wednesdays,
It is dank.
The day that calls for relaxation;
his friends will come over and share,
from morning to evening.
Letting the mind wonder on its own,
enjoying smoke swirl through the air,
his neighbors will leave letters at his doorstep
pleading:
‘Come on man…’
 
On Thursdays,
An old fashion
Dark-amber bourbon will burn his esophagus.
The sweetness of the sugar will give him euphoria.
He will mull on the loss of himself.
His finger will play with the orange peel as he finishes his drink.
A 2nd will be bought.
Then his memory will fade.
 
On Fridays,
With sweat dripping from the base of his hairline,
down his neck,
trickling into unseeable places.
It draws people to dance with him—
This is club number 3,
or was it 4?
A haze he is left in,
intertwining with an unknown body.
This leaves him in different forms of ecstasy
He will leave his buddies for the night
embraced in the arms of Hedone and Peitho.
 
On Saturdays,
It’s a different person
who isn’t in the bed next to him.
He rolls over to stare out the window
recollecting his past two nights.
He can’t tell if his nausea stems from
his daily intoxication rituals
or the lingering aroma of Bath & Body Works perfumes.
He brushes the thoughts off from his head,
ties the hotel bed sheets around his waist,
stretches
and repeats.

Unknown Scent was recognition through the Agnes Scott American Academy of Poets College Prize as an honorable mention in 2022. This prize recognizes and appreciates the honorable mention poem submitted each year to the American Academy of Poets Prize as well as recognize the excellence and promise of the writer.