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Your Armpits Smell Like Heaven

April 25, 2016

While this is certainly not the normal topic of a poem, I understand his reason for it. It’s done quite well. I think I’ll have one of my characters write a silly poem on some odd body thing. Naturally, it will get into the wrong person’s hands and she will be insulted/offended/hurt by his remarks. Mitch is the character, but I don’t have much more than this bare bones idea. He’s a famous mystery novelist in my book “Triple Trouble in Texas.” Oh, the lightbulb just lit up! That misunderstanding will fit perfectly. ~ Connie

O at the Edges

glacier

Your Armpits Smell Like Heaven

But your breath could melt a glacier at three
miles, she says, and then we might consider
the dirt under your nails, the way you slur
your sibilants, and how you seldom see

the cracked eggs in a carton, a downed tree
branch in front of you, the ripened blister
of paint in the bedroom, or your sister
lying drunk on the floor in her own pee.

Back to your armpits. Do you realize
we could bottle that aroma and make
a fortune? I inhale it and forgive

your many faults. The odor provokes sighs
and tingles, blushes I could never fake.
Ain’t love grand? Elevate those arms. Let’s live!

Never in my wildest dreams did I envision writing a poem about armpits. But the Tupelo Press 30-30 challenge, and Plain Jane, the title sponsor, provided that opportunity. I’ll be reading this poem, and…

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