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