I watched the doors slide shut
Just after she slid in
She took up too much room
She really was quite thin.
I said hello to be polite
She didn't like my tone
Haughty like some royalty
She jabbered on the phone.
Suddenly I gasped for air
My throat began to close
She looked with great disdain at me
And then stuck up her nose.
I think she used a bottle full
'Least that's what I'd presume
And by God she's gonna kill me
With whiffs of her perfume.
I'll bet she works at Harrods
And wears a fancy gown
Does makeup on a stool
As people gather 'round.
Or maybe she just lacks
A serious sense of smell
And blithely on her way
She smells us all to hell.
I think, perhaps, a little drop
Or two behind the ear
Is plenty good enough
At anytime of year.
So watch what you put on
That goes for male folks, too
'Cause aftershave and lotions
Can smell like doggy do.
I'd like to ride what's called the lift
And manage to survive
And I don't want to stink and reek
Of Chanel No. 5.
So please have some compassion
Upon your fellow man
Remember just a dab or two
Is what good scents demands.
Copyright © 2006 and 2010 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved.
