All afternoon the rain smell was coming back in
from over the ocean, as the storm turned —
a different kind of freshness in the air,
that slight, sharp savour filling my nostrils.
Now the wind howls and bangs at my door
as the water descends in torrents. Only yesterday
the puddles across the road from days of wet
began to dry and dissipate. We could smell
the steam coming off the asphalt, a singed odour.
We got home just before the storm arrived in force,
and settled in with our plates of barbecue chicken.
The hot, tangy flavour was reassuring, so were
our deep armchairs, and the ABC news on TV.
Situation normal. I poured myself a shiraz,
and you a version with alcohol removed. Yours
tasted sweeter (although not very sweet) but I liked
the deeper, spicier taste of mine. Later we finished
the cupcakes with strawberry icing and licked our lips.
They tasted of sugar and cream. Baby, it’s warm in here.
30 Poems in 30 days, 2010: 27
Prompt: A poem that includes at least three different flavours and two odours.
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