Monday, April 9, 2012

Special Sauce

Contorted faces speak common
This place reeks.
A saturated scent of bad decisions
And failures by those
Who couldn't care.

Contorted faces
We look around
Frantically searching for a culprit
Who we all know
Disappeared a long time ago
Because the remnant is dying
Or rather masked by familiarity
Lingering only because
A scent like that never goes away;
It travels
Car to car
Corner to corner
Borough to borough
County to county
City to city
State to state
The only way to tell Its presence?
Contorted faces
Of those who recognize
The stench of giving in
Going with a flow
Erratic and destructive
Leaving one guessing,
When will this toilet back up?