Spring

Even between the barren oaks you can smell it.
Even among the old oaks, the lifeless oaks covered in dust, in sawdust, exhaust –
even when you’re walking between barren oaks, you can smell it.

And on the busy streets –
the Monday morning streets, packed with cars all filled with drivers
clad in black and business cazh* –
filled with drivers driving Audis, or their Civics, or Ferraris,
city bitches, exhausting rich bitches dreading the week
and lacquered nails, listening to Damien Rice, TGIF is only 5 days away,
Bellinis with the colleagues after work, everyone sucks –
Even at the crowded streetlights packed with Civics filled with drivers
who don’t watch out for bikes –
you can smell it.

Even on the cobblestone streets –
the brick-laid streets that clatter your teeth and unhinge your feet
as your wheels rattle overtop –
On the cobblestone streets with the Subway on the side,
the Second Cup, the Starbucks and garbage cans –
the Subway Fresh Eats Foot Longs Five Dollaz
buy now buy buy BUY free gift with purchase
you can smell it.

And on the stairs up to your office –
the enormous flights, fluorescent lights, skin-tight jeans a poly-cotton blend,
the three enormous flights of stairs light-years removed from the elements,
the flights encased in minimum eight layers of cement
and stacks and shelves of books and Post-It notes and push pins and rubber cement,
entwined between all the Macbook Pros, the Macbook Airs, the iPads, wrapping around the Androids, the 32 GB Samsung Galaxies S7s (this poem will be irrelevant in 1 year), the self-serve book checkout stations in the library humming with neglect,
Even the stairwells are no relief from its intoxicating scent.
Even in the stairwells you can smell it.

*cazh – short for casual, as in business casual.

**photo from flickr.com thx to whoever took it ❤

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