Speaking of Smells

© Elizabeth Larrabee

Woolworth's was not an empire

inherited by a debutante

named Barbara.

It was a thousand distinct aromas.

Lily of the Valley

and Johnson's hard floor wax

whammed your nostrils upon

the in-swing of the glass door.

Hot chocolate sauce at the fountain.

Over-ripe bananas disguised

in strawberry smothered splits.

A stack of on-sale percale

house dresses assaulted from the left

while freshly inked comic books

invaded your senses from racks

placed just right to extract

the one nickel from your pocket.

The nickel meant for the sweetness

that exploded through thinly wrapped

Necco Wafers.

Tangee lipstick?

THAT was Woolworth's.

A sniff of the orange, waxy stuff

was enough to knock you out

and that's what you got for sticking

your nose where it shouldn't be.

Lee's Chinese laundry.

Iron irons on hot, black stoves.

Heat waves up the back alley.

Humidity

from the presser's steam

fused with the ripening odors

from Georgia peaches

and Florida oranges

at the fruit stand on the corner.

Kennedy's.

My, oh my, do you remember Kennedy's?

Crunchy peanut butter in open buckets.

Coffee, fresh from the solid steel grinder,

enriching the air all the way

down Cabot Street

when the breeze was right.

Has EVERYTHING changed?

© Elizabeth Larrabee

Earliest Recall | Lady Slippers | How Poor Were We? | Free Food

The Smaller The Bigger | Mud Flats | Speaking of Smells | Random Pieces

Growing Up the Hard Way  | No Bogey Man | Green Apples | Poor Buster

Up and Down | True Friends | Moving | Rosie's Hangout | Crystal Ball

You weren't so Hot After All | Haunts | On Acting the Way You Feel | Amen

E-Mail Liz Larrabee