I am normally a bit oblivious
to many things;
if it doesn’t stink or scream
don’t expect me to notice it
(and even then, it’s got to stink pretty badly
to catch my attention).
But now I find myself
a sudden and unwilling bloodhound—
able to pick up on the tiniest scent
as I walk past the garbage can
or the kitchen sink.
The waft of the compost as I open the lid
hits me like colour—
a slime green wave riding the air
up into my nose.
Smells have become like warning signs
flashing across my vision,
sending me scuttling away in the opposite direction—
a sudden and unwilling bloodhound
lacking all desire to follow the scent
and solve the gruesome mystery
of its origins.
It’s a dog’s life,
so you’ll forgive me
if now and then
I throw back my head