Poem: Night Nose Report

Night Nose Report

While walking the dog tonight, yet again, around the block – a true story. He snoofs the ground, I, the air.

Dryer sheets. Someone uses Bounce “Outdoor Fresh”, just like I do.
It carries so far on the warm air out the exhaust. It behaves less like fabric softener and more like perfume for your neighborhood.

Diesel fumes from an immense pickup truck. He’s pealing out like nobody could possibly be sleeping at 11:30 PM. Now they’re not.

At the next house, I can’t smell the alcohol, but I can hear it. A party is commencing, with the front door wide open and the lights bright. A woman is laughing impossibly loud at everything being said. But nobody is really that funny, and you’ve never laughed that hard. Not even at that old Adam Sandler stand-up album with the Hanukkah song on it and the routine about the goat. All the plates parked in front of the party house say Oregon on them. Who knew Idaho was such a drinking destination?

Turning the corner, I know what to expect: the smoke of pungent cheap cigarettes. They’re out on the porch smoking, with the TV blaring through the screen door behind them, like it always is. It’s a rental.

Three doors down is another rental, this one full of young Christian men. They’re out on the patio smoking expensive sweet pipe tobacco. My wife says I shan’t have a pipe until I’m old enough to not look silly with it. She’s probably right. I’m pretty sure the dog will be dead by then. And maybe the next one too.