The Scent of my Town

The buildings are tall, stacked like Dahlia pink

with traces of delicate red and white.

The aroma in each house has a link,

permeating the lonely scent of the night.


I name a cicada and a cricket

that saunter the palm tree’s pale green branches,

croon a peppy tune in the night’s blanket

and spread leafy scent on empty benches.


The southern wind carries the paint of church

with the fragrance of the temple’s sandalwood,

moving past the sycamore, pine, and birch,

breaking the secretive night’s dark-green hood.


Now the scent is replaced with toxic fume

and the new name is ‘industrial boom’.

One thought on “The Scent of my Town

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