Woodsmoke: A Poem
Lynx the deodorant comes in many scents
None of them particularly pleasant
Each a sort of olfactory equivalent
Of the concept of banter
One scent that Lynx the deodorant does not come in
Is Woodsmoke
Woodsmoke is too good for Lynx
You cannot bottle Woodsmoke
And you most definitely cannot can it
When summer dies
And you remember that autumn is short
And winter is long
Woodsmoke arrives on the breeze
Or cuts through the frost
To tell you, “It’s all going to be ok.”
But not in a bullshitting, motivational, sugarcoated way
It is seasoned with history
Your own
And another
Unfathomable
Untouchable
But smellable
And very there
They say that trees are more sociable than we think
That far underground
Their roots are talking to one another
And maybe that’s why woodsmoke is always a good friend
It will never cloak a genuine insult in humour
Then when you do not appreciate it
Tell you, “Awright mate, come on, can’t you take a joke?”
It could never do that
Never in the million years it has been here
Never in a milion more
It will never repeat an inane buzzword
As a substitute
For a personality
It will never be empty
It is always full of good thoughts, and wisdom
Woodsmoke could never be banter
Because it is something infinitely superior
It is conversation
