Thursday, March 08, 2007


Girl in the off-licence where I stop on a Thursday after work to buy some fags,
Why do you smell so bad?
On first glance you seem personable.
Your demeanour is cheery,
Your hair seems clean
Yet you smell.
Your clothes seem fresh, pressed,
But your hands are rimed with a film of dirt,
A film the grey of callous pavement beneath the trainer of a hooded youth
In Blair's Britain.
I wonder about you.
I wonder why you smell.
I wonder why nobody has gently pointed out the atmosphere in your temple of commerce,
Redolent with the fleshy scent of a three-week-old meat pie left on a windowsill
In a carrier bag
In the sun
In the final resting place of a forgotten pensioner,
And fermenting and being eaten by Alsatians even as the neighbours worry and
Sniff the air and worry about that damp patch on the ceiling.
And as I wonder, the people from the Yahoo User Group for Smelly People fire up their keyboards
And prepare to attack and protest and say but!
But we can't help it!
They are cross and I am sorry.
But the fact, like your smell, remains, immutable.
Girl in the off-licence where I stop on a Thursday after work to buy some fags,
Why do you smell so bad?


Blogger Kellycat chimed in with...

Very Molesque.

Girl in the off-licence where Surly should not be buying fags,
It would seem
That your particular odour
Is caused by a fear
A phobia
A resistance
To love soap.
Girl in the off-licence
Why are you unable to love?

08 March, 2007 18:00  
Blogger GreatSheElephant chimed in with...


08 March, 2007 18:33  
Blogger Billy chimed in with...

I like that a lot especially the in Blair's Britain line.

08 March, 2007 19:52  
Blogger Arabella chimed in with...

Now you just need the OH to accompany you on the ukulele...

08 March, 2007 20:22  
Anonymous Brian chimed in with...

That poem is great Surly.

I have this great picture in my head of worried neighbors sniffing the air.

08 March, 2007 23:17  
Blogger Homer chimed in with...

Girl with an amusing blog,
Why do you not just buy your fags elsewhere?
On a Thursday, or any other day,
There are many such emporia
Temples to the Goddess Nicotine
That do not smell of rotting flesh.

09 March, 2007 14:59  
Blogger First Nations chimed in with...

could it be
beef sweat?
produced by beefy pores
sap oozing from the underarms of a loveless tree
redolent of cowish mcburger.
girl, or do you slowly, slowly
leak constant foetid winds?
do you shame the memory of the hindenburg in silence?
avoid open flames
as you make change

12 March, 2007 00:13  
Blogger realdoc chimed in with...

We have a very smelly IT person in our office, a cliche I know, but I am so tempted to tell him. Is it wrong to tell him?

19 March, 2007 15:08  

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