FRAGRANCE

I've arrived early for the concert
and am seated,
observing the crowd flowing in,
some bejeweled,
some bedraggled.
I'm feeling good
as I sit on my tuffet,
until little miss perfume
comes and sits down beside me,
wafting her fragrance my way.
It is a cloying stench,
and I fume at the fumes.
Soon there are others,
emanating from women
to my front and my back.
Now there is a cacophony of scent
like the orchestra tuning up onstage.
I'm writing laws in my head
(perhaps a constitutional amendment?)
banning all perfume in theaters and planes.
Fragrance is so personal,
how and why has it become so public?
You cannot close your eyes to shut it out.
Assaulted by aromas,
I make a serious effort to separate
what's happening to my nose
from what's happening in my ears.
I will save my anger for another day.
The music is glorious, and
I'm glad to report that the
Dvorjak
has doused the
Dior.


© Ellen Azorin