Stetson Scented Memory

It finds me sometimes,
on a stranger’s coat,
or aisle seven of the store.

Stetson cologne.

Scent.
Traitor of the senses.

It summons the echo
of smoke and leather
bruising the air
with hands I've tried
so hard to forget.

And I’m there again,
pinned on my back,
silent.

Still.


--

*With apologies to Stetson, and men who wear it - it's not your fault, I'm sure it's a fine cologne. But every time I smell it, I want to puke.