Smells Like Town Spirit

Not sure why my town smells

like it bathed in patchouli

on the morning after Halloween,

but the scent dulls my memory

of last night’s dream:

Someone was bullying my child.

I awoke all grizzly-mama,

but now even my coffee

tastes like it was brewed

at a music festival,

so I put on some hippie tunes

for my commute to work,

where I’ll start November

in a haze of patchouli & peace

love, understanding--

letting bullies recede, fade away.

Hello! This is poem number ONE of 30 poems I’ll write in November to benefit the Center for New Americans. If you’re a faithful reader here, you know that in recent months, I’ve been managing far fewer than one poem per day, so this will be a real challenge. I’d be tickled if you’d consider sponsoring my efforts at any amount. Thank you!

My Fundraising Page for 30 Poems In November